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■ v 


Nathan  The  Wise 

i i ' 

A DRAMATIC  POEM 

- ? :■£ 

BY 

GOTTHOLD  EPHRAIM  LESSING 


"Introite,  nam  et  heic  Dii  sunt!" 
Apud  Gellium.1 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN 
BY  PATRICK  MAXWELL 


Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  com- 
prising a Biographical  Sketch  of  the 
Author,  a Critical  Analysis  of  the  Poem, 
and  an  Account  of  the  Relations 
between  Lessing  and  Moses  Mendelssohn 

BY 

GEORGE  ALEXANDER  KOHUT 


NEW  YORK 

BLOCH  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

1917 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
BLOCH  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
New  York 


2 $ tu 

AfD 


TO 

JACOB  H.  SCHIFF 

THE  AMERICAN  NATHAN  THE  WISE 
THIS  VOLUME 
IS 

REVERENTLY  INSCRIBED 
BY  THE  EDITOR 


"Welch  eln  Jude I 

Und  der  so  ganz  nur  Jude  scheinen  Will! 
(Act  III,  Scene  VII,  end.) 


346741 


CONTENTS 


Editor's  Preface 9 

Biographical  Sketch 15 

Introduction 

I.  Genesis  of  the  Poem 23 

II.  Lessing  and  Mendelssohn 33 

III.  Analysis  of  the  Plot 75 

IV.  The  Characters 80 

V.  The  Parable  of  the  Three  Rings  . . 93 

Nathan  the  Wise 

Act  I 127 

Act  II  176 

Act  III 224 

Act  IV 274 

Act  V 319 

Notes  by  the  Translator 367 

Note  by  the  Editor 387 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Gotthold  Ephraim  Lessing Frontispiece 

Moses  Mendelssohn 33 

Lessing,  Mendelssohn  and  Lavater  at  Chess  . . 65 

Facsimile  of  Title-Page  of  the  First  Edition  of 

“Nathan  the  Wise” 127 

Facsimile  of  a Page  of  the  First  Draft  of  the 

Poem 203 

Adolph  von  Sonnenthal 247 


6 


EDITOR’S  PREFACE 


INTRODUCTION 


EDITOR’S  PREFACE 


It  would  seem  to  be  almost  superfluous  to  write 
a Foreword  to  the  present  edition  of  Lessing’s  im- 
mortal epic.  It  is  so  plainly  a preachment,  that  its 
stirring  emotional  appeal  should,  in  itself,  suffice.  How- 
ever, living  at  a time  when  at  least  one  half  of  the 
civilized  world  is  engaged  in  a war  of  extermination 
against  the  other  half,  and  when  the  lofty  ideals  which 
Lessing  and  Mendelssohn  strove  to  inculcate  are  in 
imminent  danger  of  being  swept  aside  in  this  vortex  of 
passion  and  race  antagonism,  it  behooves  us  to  call 
attention,  at  the  outset,  to  the  masterful  plea  for 
tolerance  and  brotherhood  which  the  poet  makes  in 
this  vivid  and  picturesque  drama.  It  is  essentially  a 
human  document,  with  a message  as  vital  and  pur- 
poseful in  these  latter  days  as  then,  when  the  great 
Reformer  strove  to  throw  off  the  shackles  of  race 
pride,  prejudice  and  religious  fanaticism.  Indeed, 
it  might  have  been  written  for  those  of  us,  in  tha 
present  day,  who  are  still  victims  of  stubborn  soph- 
istry and  whose  patriotism  is  largely  a compound 
of  arrogance  and  unreasoning  egotism. 

It  is  not  for  us  to  say  who  is  responsible  for  this 
recrudescence  of  the  savage  instinct  which  has  made 
itself  felt  for  many  decades  and  has  flashed,  like  a 
flaming  sword,  dubiously  guarding  the  gates  to  the 

9 


10 


EDITOR’S  PREFACE 


pathway  of  peace.  But  it  is  a significant  fact  that 
the  Berlin  Congress  of  1878,  from  which  Disraeli 
brought  back  “peace  with  honor” — after  imposing 
his  will  upon  all  the  delegates  with  regard  to  the 
political  emancipation  of  the  Jews  in  Roumania — was, 
after  all,  a fruitless  victory  in  the  cause  of  civilization. 
Treaty  obligations  then,  as  now,  were  either  altogether 
ignored  or  adroitly  avoided,  and  the  fate  of  “the  little 
people”  held  in  bondage  still  hangs  in  the  balance. 

We  have,  to  be  sure,  made  great  progress  in  the 
cause  of  human  brotherhood:  The  establishment  of 

the  Hague  Tribunal,  with  its  gospel  of  arbitration, 
though  perhaps  more  honored  in  the  breach  than  in 
the  observance,  has  brought  us  inevitably  nearer  to 
the  ideal  of  universal  brotherhood,  preached  by  the 
prophets  of  Israel,  and  however  calamitous  for  the 
human  race  the  terrible  ordeal  may  be  through  which 
the  nations  are  passing,  the  struggle  for  mastery  is  so 
distinctly  a test  of  the  survival  of  what  is  best  in  our 
civilization,  that  it  can  not  pass  without  leaving  a 
blessing  in  its  wake.  Out  of  this  holocaust  must  come 
a saner  and  sweeter  humanity,  and  the  realization 
that  nation  is  linked  to  nation,  not  so  much  by  ties 
of  blood,  a common  tradition,  a common  language,  and 
by  other  selfish  considerations,  but  by  the  higher  ideal 
of  mutual  responsibility  and  a sense  of  universal  fel- 
lowship. 

It  is  good  to  read  the  powerful  lay-sermon  which 
Lessing,  that  intrepid  regenerator  of  the  German 
spirit,  preached  from  his  stage-pulpit,  just  one  hundred 
thirty-seven  years  ago.  Seldom  has  such  an  utterance 


EDITOR’S  PREFACE 


11 


been  heard  from  a literary  chancel.  Nor  was  his  a 
voice  in  the  wilderness.  His  enlightened  example 
was  followed  by  no  less  a man  than  Joseph  II,  Emperor 
of  Austria,  who  established  the  poll  tax  and  the  Jews’ 
Budget  (1781),  and  issued  a Patent  of  Tolerance 
(January  2,  1782),  removing  all  restrictions  from  the 
Jews.  This  illustrious  monarch  is  the  author  of  the 
following  sublime  prayer,  which  one  cannot  read  with- 
out a quickening  of  the  pulse  and  a feeling  of  pro- 
found gratitude: 

“Eternal,  incomprehensible  Being ! Thou  art  per- 
fect toleration  and  love.  Thy  sun  shines  for  the  Chris- 
tian as  well  as  for  the  atheist.  Thy  rain  fructifies  the 
field  of  the  erring  as  that  of  the  orthodox ; and  the 
germ  of  every  virtue  lies  in  the  hearts  of  both  heathen 
and  heretic.  Thou  teachest  me  thus,  Eternal  Being! 
toleration  and  love — teachest  me  that  diverse  views 
do  not  deter  Thee  from  being  a beneficent  Father  to 
all  people.  And  shall  I,  Thy  creature,  be  less  tolerant, 
not  conceding  that  everyone  of  my  subjects  may  wor- 
ship Thee  in  his  own  manner?  Shall  I persecute  those 
who  think  differently  from  me,  and  convert  the  erring 
by  the  sword?  No,  Omnipotent!  with  Thy  love,  all- 
embracing  Being,  I shall  be  far  from  doing  so.  I will 
resemble  Thee  as  far  as  a creature  can  resemble  Thee 
— will  be  tolerant  as  Thou  art ! Henceforth  be  all  in- 
tolerance in  my  country  removed.  Where  is  a religion 
that  doth  not  teach  the  love  of  virtue  and  the  abhor- 
rence of  vice?  Everybody  shall,  therefore,  be  tolerated 
by  me.  Let  everyone  worship  Thee,  incomprehensible 
Being!  in  the  manner  which  seemeth  to  him  best.  Do 


12 


EDITOR’S  PREFACE 


errors  of  mind  deserve  banishment  from  society?  Is 
severity,  indeed,  the  means  of  winning  the  people;  of 
converting  the  erring?  Broken  shall  henceforth  be  the 
infamous  fetters  of  intolerance!  Instead  of  it,  may 
the  sweet  bond  of  toleration  and  brotherly  love  unite 
forever!  Amen.” 

As  nobleness  enkindles  nobleness,  it  is  but  natural 
to  find  the  same  exalted  sentiment  voiced  on  behalf 
of  Israel  by  a humble  parish  priest  in  Germany,  who, 
in  1804,  included  this  soulful  plea  in  his  “Prayer  Book 
for  Enlightened  Catholic  Christians” : — 

“Almighty,  Everlasting  God ! I entreat  Thee  on 
behalf  of  a dispersed  nation  that  has  had  to  suffer 
much  oppression  and  humiliation  in  days  of  yore.  Ah  ! 
the  misery  of  these  unhappy  people  seemed  to  many 
to  be  a triumph  of  the  teachings  of  Jesus,  and  in  order 
to  make  this  victory  more  luminous,  they  magnified 
their  misery  and  destroyed  every  vestige  of  civic  and 
domestic  happiness  in  this  industrious  race. 

“The  religion  of  Jesus  became  hateful  to  them,  be- 
cause not  a few  professors  of  the  same  were  their 
perpetual  and  almost  sworn  enemies.  Never  shall 
such  an  unworthy  and  inimical  pride  of  creed  beguile 
and  corrupt  me ! 

“Since,  O my  God,  I have  learned  from  Jesus  that 
all  men  are  brothers,  I shall  respect  the  human  rights 
and  privileges  which  they  hold  in  common  with  me. 
Their  very  wretchedness  and  civic  degradation  shall 
imbue  me,  at  all  times,  with  the  most  lively  desire  to 
comfort  them,  to  mitigate  their  sorrows,  and  to  uplift 
them  from  the  stupefying  blow  of  their  erstwhile  de- 


EDITOR’S  PREFACE 


13 


struction  by  the  sympathy  which  I cherish  for  their 
destiny.  Amen.” 

How  fortunate  for  the  human  race  that  God  never 
leaves  Himself  without  a witness  and  that,  in  moments 
of  great  stress,  some  high-minded  leader  is  found  to 
champion  the  cause  of  righteousness ! 

Is  it  too  much  to  hope  that  the  blood  which  is  now 
so  generously  spilt  on  the  battlefields  of  Europe  will 
wash  away  the  guilt  of  race-pride  and  prejudice ; ob- 
literate the  dark  memories  of  German  anti-semitism ; 
of  the  Dreyfus  scandal,  and  of  the  nameless  horrors 
of  the  Russian  pogroms,  which  are  still  a blot  on  the 
escutcheon  of  our  common  humanity? 


The  version  of  “Nathan  the  Wise”  here  printed, 
follows  the  text  of  Major-General  Patrick  Maxwell, 
published  in  The  Scott  Library  series  by  Walter 
Scott,  in  London.  It  is  esteemed  to  be  the  most  ac- 
curate of  all  existing  English  translations,  although 
perhaps  not  quite  so  graceful  and  elastic  in  style  as 
Miss  Ellen  Frothingham’s  rendering  (New  York, 
1867 ; reprinted  in  G.  A.  Kohut’s  “Hebrew  Anthology,” 
Cincinnati,  1913,  Volume  II).  Like  many  of  Les- 
sing’s dramas  and  comedies,  it  has  been  translated 
into  Hebrew  and  Judaeo-German,  proving  that  his 
popularity  with  the  Jews  is  on  a par  with  that  of 
Schiller. 

The  illustrations  in  the  volume  include  excellent 
portraits  of  Lessing  and  Mendelssohn ; a likeness  of 
the  celebrated  Austrian  actor,  Adolph  von  Sonnenthal, 


14 


EDITOR’S  PREFACE 


in  his  character  of  Nathan,  which  has  made  him  world- 
famous;  and  a reproduction  from  an  old  drawing, 
showing  Lessing  and  Lavater  at  chess  with  their  mu- 
tual friend,  the  celebrated  Jewish  philosopher,  Moses 
Mendelssohn. 

The  facsimile  of  the  original  title  page,  as  well  as 
of  a leaf  of  the  author’s  first  draught  of  the  poem,  in 
possession  of  a member  of  the  Mendelssohn  family- 
in  Berlin,  should  prove  of  considerable  interest  to  the 
book-lover  and  antiquarian. 

GEORGE  ALEXANDER  KOHUT. 

New  York,  November  8,  1916. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


GOTTHOLD  EPHRAIM  LESSING  was  born 
January  22,  1729,  at  Camenz,  in  Upper  Lusatia,  and 
died  at  Brunswick,  February  15,  1781. 

He  comes  of  a line  of  learned  ancestors.  For  many 
generations,  his  family  had  been  one  of  jurists,  curates 
and  burgo-masters.  His  father  was  a clergyman  and 
his  mother  a pastor’s  daughter.  His  earliest  known 
progenitor,  likewise  a curate,  was  one  of  the  signers  of 
the  formula  concordiae,  published  in  1580,  which  was 
designed  to  harmonize  certain  doctrinal  dissensions.  It 
is  significant  that  he  derived  his  liberal  views  by 
heredity,  for  we  find  that  his  grandfather  had  written 
a doctoral  dissertation  on  the  “Tolerance  of  Religions.” 
His  brothers  followed  academic  pursuits,  and  to  one  of 
them  we  owe  not  only  valuable  comments  on  his 
published  works,  but  an  adequate  and  brilliant  biog- 
raphy of  this  greatest  regenerator  of  German  litera- 
ture. 

When  he  was  scarcely  thirteen,  Lessing  was  sent 
to  the  celebrated  grammar  school  at  Meissen,  where 
he  finished  the  prescribed  course  of  study  earlier  than 
the  average  student.  The  dean,  in  answer  to  his 
father’s  inquiry  concerning  the  boy’s  progress,  re- 
plied : “He  is  a horse  that  needs  double  fodder.  The 
lessons  which  are  hard  for  others  are  nothing  for 

15 


16 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


him.  We  can  not  use  him  much  longer.”  In  Sep- 
tember, 1746,  he  entered  the  University  of  Leipsic  as 
a theological  student.  After  a few  years  at  Wittenberg 
and  Berlin,  he  took  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts,  on 
April  29,  1752. 

Already  in  these  early  years,  he  showed  a marked 
talent  for  dramatic  composition.  The  first  fruit  of 
his  literary  labors  was  a comedy,  entitled  “The  Young 
Scholar.”  It  was  a study  from  life,  based  largely 
upon  his  own  experiences.  It  was  produced  with  con- 
siderable success  in  Leipsic  and  gave  him  the  first 
impetus  to  a literary  career.  While  at  grammar  school, 
he  had  written  several  fugitive  pieces,  and,  upon  be- 
coming acquainted  with  an  interesting  philosophic 
coterie  at  Leipsic,  notably  the  young  journalist  Mylius, 
who  exerted  a marked  influence  over  him,  he  wrote 
poetic  burlesques  of  scientific  subjects.  His  relations 
with  Madame  Neuber,  whose  troupe  presented  his  first 
production,  brought  him  into  contact  with  the  people 
of  the  stage.  This  displeased  his  parents,  who  feared 
that  the  kind  of  life  he  was  leading  would  inevitably 
jeopardize  his  future.  His  letters  home  were  full  of 
filial  piety  and  devotion,  yet  they  showed  an  inde- 
pendence of  spirit  and  a maturity  of  thought  which 
gave  indication  of  great  promise.  Characteristic  is  the 
following  passage  from  one  of  these  letters: 

“The  Christian  religion  is  not  a thing  that  ought  to 
be  received  on  trust  from  one’s  parents.  The  great 
mass  of  mankind,  it  is  true,  inherit  it  as  they  do  their 
property,  but  their  conduct  shows  what  Christians  they 
are." 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


17 


It  is  significant  that  these  letters  were  written  by  a 
young  man  scarcely  twenty  years  old. 

In  Berlin,  Lessing  devoted  himself  to  translations 
from  foreign  languages  and,  in  conjunction  with  My- 
lius,  founded  a periodical  devoted  to  the  dramatic  arts. 
He  soon  parted  company  with  his  friend,  however, 
owing  to  a disagreement  on  literary  subjects  and  be- 
came a contributor  to  Voss’s  Gazette.  It  was  not 
long  before  he  became  well-known,  through  the  in- 
dividuality of  his  utterances.  He  maintained  that 
there  were  no  established  canons  of  art  and  that  every 
new  genius  modifies  principles  already  recognized.  He 
turned  the  searchlight  of  philosophy  on  literary  crit- 
icism and  blazed  a new  path  for  German  letters.  He 
denounced  the  pedantry  and  sentimentality  which  pre- 
vailed in  high  circles  and  inveighed  against  the  domin- 
ance of  the  French  classic  drama,  which  was  the  model 
in  Germany  at  the  time.  In  consequence  of  his  ef- 
forts, the  German  language  and  literature  were  eman- 
cipated, once  and  for  all,  from  foreign  influence.  It 
must  be  remembered  that  Frederick  the  Great  and  his 
court  had  succumbed  to  the  spell  of  Voltaire  to  such 
an  extent  that  the  great  monarch  was  actually  inca- 
pable Of  writincrtmod  irfinmnhV  (German 

i rough  him,  his  friend,  Moses  Mendelssohn, 
who  gave  to  German  style  that  tone  and  dignity  which 
make  the  literature  of  the  time  so  rich  and  distinctive. 
vPermeated  by  English  culture,  Lessing  endeavored  to 
i prove  that  the  soul  of  man,  and  not  his  environment, 
Represents  all  that ^Js---g^eat~^h3~~noble  irf^dramatic^ 
poetry.  To  vindicate  his  point  of  view,  he  wrote,  in 


18 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


I753*55»  a tragedy  in  prose,  entitled  “Miss  Sara  Samp- 
son,” which  proved  a complete  success  and  liberated 
the  German  playwrights  from  their  traditional  limita- 
tions. This  tragedy  was  first  presented  at  Frankfort- 
on-the-Oder,  July  io,  1755,  and  it  is  said  that  the 
spectators  “sat  for  hours  like  statues  and  wept  and 
wept”.  Although  it  was  considered  a theatrical  tri 
umph  and  had  the  distinction  of  being  translated  into 
French  and  English,  its  importance  now  is  chiefly 
historical.  After  all,  Lessing’s  fame  rests  upon  his 
maturer  contributions  to  dramatic  literature,  of  which 
at  least  three,  “Minna  von  Barnhelm”,  “Emilia  Galot- 
ti”  and  “Nathan  the  Wise”,  representing,  respectively, 
comedy,  tragedy  and  didactic  drama,  have  an  intrinsic 
and  permanent  value. 

The  salient  feature  of  “Minna  von  Barnhelm,”  pub- 
lished in  1767,  is  its  national  character.  The  chief 
personages  in  the  love  story  are  made  to  symbolize 
the  natural  ties  of  race  which  should  bind  together  the 
(TTfferentmembers  of  the  German  family.  th.en~~aTTen- 
afed^and~antagonized  by  dynastic  jealousies  and  in- 
terests. Goethe  recalls  the  tremendous  impression 
the  comedy  made  upon  the  young  people  of  his  day 
and  speaks  of  it  with  reminiscent  enthusiasm. 

Although  the  scene  in  “Emilia  Galotti”  is  laid  in 
Italy  and  gives  a vivid  picture  of  the  old  Roman  Re- 
public, the  plot  is  wholly  German  in  spirit  and  wras 
designed  to  depict  the  tyrannical  princelings-  of  Les- 
sing’s own  time  and  nation.  The  ( characters  are  ad- 
mirably portrayed.  The  dialogue  is  simple  and  the 
plot  and  dramatic  movement  remarkably  direct  and 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


19 


rapid.  It  was  first  presented  at  Brunswick,  March  i, 
1772,  and  has  retained  its  popularity  with  German 
theatre-goers  to  this  day. 

Regarding  “Nathan  the  Wise”,  the  scene  of  which 
is  laid  in  Jerusalem,  during  the  Third  Crusade,  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  12th  Century,  more  will  be  said  in 
the  subjoined  introduction  to  the  poem.  It  is  a 
dialogue  in  iambics,  illustrating  Lessing’s  own  views  of 
religious  toleration  and  is  generally  recognized  as  one 
of  fhe~-greatest  masterpiecesof  German  literature. 
It  was  published  in  1779  and  presented  in  Berlin, 
on  April  4,  1783.  From  that  day  to  this,  it  has  de- 
lighted vast  audiences,  wherever  produced,  and  the 
character  of  Nathan  has  made  the  fame  of  at  least 
one  distinguished  actor — Adolf  von  Sonnenthal,  who 
played  the  title  role  for  almost  two  generations  and 
was  finally  knighted  by  the  Austrian  emperor. 

Struggling  against  poverty  and  forced  into  signifi- 
cant positions,  in  order  to  maintain  himself,  yet  con- 
scientiously providing  for  his  family,  who  did  not 
scruple  to  draw  heavily  upon  his  meager  resources, 
it  is  astonishing  that  he  should  have  been  able  to  pro- 
duce works  of  transcending  merit,  in  his  early  man- 
hood. Among— these  may  be  mentioned  his  “Fables”, 
to  which  he  subsequently  added  a Critical  Comment- 
ary; his  “Dramaturgic”,  a seriesVpf  dramatic  essays, 
as  epoch-makine  in  this  field  as  the  Laokoon  is  in  the 


led  to  ith  Goze,  the  pastor 

in  Hamburg,  resulting  in  a series  of  learned  and  sa- 
tirical papers,  which  are  unique  in  polemic  literature; 


realm 


Fragments”,  which 


20 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


and  numerous  other  works  on  ethical,  philosophical 
and  literary  subjects,  which  round  out  a life  of  great 
achievement.  A special  interest  attaches  to  his  “Five 
Conversations  for  Freemasons”  and  his  “Education  of 
the  Human  Race”,  which  express  his  ideas  of  govern- 
ment and  society  and  embody  his  views  of  religious 
development. 

When  Lessing  was  about  forty  years  old  and  his 
poverty  became  irksome,  the  post  of  Librarian  at  Wol- 
fenbiittel  was  tendered  him  by  the  Duke  of  Bruns- 
wick, who,  though  a literary  snob,  was  anxious  to 
plume  himself  by  attaching  the  now-celebrated  author 
to  his  court.  The  six  years  he  spent  there  proved 
anything  but  congenial.  Routine  work  palled  upon 
him  and  his  finances  were  still  so  uncertain  that  he 
could  not  afford  to  marry,  after  having  faithfully 
waited  for  his  friend  Konig’s  widow  for  years,  dur- 
ing which  time  the  strain  of  a romantic  correspond- 
ence with  her  told  upon  his  buoyant  temperament. 
The  “letters  are  full  of  the  most  beautiful  sincerity, 
unselfishness  and  common-sense,  regarding  all  mat- 
ters of  the  intellect  and  emotions”.  It  was  not  until 
1776  that  he  finally  married  Eva  Konig,  only  to  lose 
her  within  a year.  The  days  which  followed  were 
full  of  loneliness,  though  not  from  lack  of  friends  or 
privation.  He  had  again  gone  into  debt  to  secure  his 
wife’s  property  to  her  children.  In  this,  as  in  all 
other  concerns  of  his  life,  he  showed  himself  truly 
heroic,  chivalrous,  gentle  and  sympathetic.  It  has 
been  well  said  that  the  dominant  passion  in  his  heart 
was  not  criticism  but  sympathy,  and,  while  he  was 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


21 


forced  into  controversy,  he  contrived  to  retain  his 
splendid  bravado,  poise  and  noble  courage,  which 
made  him  a formidable  antagonist.  He  fought  for  a 
principle  and  never  degraded  his  literary  warfare  to 
the  level  of  calumny.  He  was  a brave  champion  of 
human  rights  and  exemplified  in  himself  the  traits 
which  adorn  his  noblest  character  in  fiction — “Nathan 
the  Wise”.  — * 

r-s  In  1775,  Lessing  accompanied  the  Crown  Prince 
I of  Brunswick  to  Italy  and  met  with  an  enthusiastic 
) ovation  wherever  he  went.  In  Vienna,  the  Empress 
Maria  Theresa  sent  for  him  and  consulted  him  with 
regard  to  the  intellectual  development  of  the  Empire. 
He  was  presented  to  the  Pope,  and  the  honors  ac- 
corded to  him  on  that  occasion  form  a marked  con- 
\ trast  to  his  treatment  at  the  hands  of  eminent  persons, 
'at-home. 

He  enjoyed,  however,  the  confidence,  esteem  and 
affection  of  a group  of  noted  literati.  The  greatest 
minds  of  his  day  bowed  before  him,  and  it  was  es- 
pecially his  intimate  relations  with  Moses  Mendels- 
sohn which  afforded  him  much  pleasure  and  satisfac- 
tiom_jThe  two  men 'reciprocally  influenced  eachotKer; 
/and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  each  owes  to  the 
/ other  the  impetus  which  has  made  them  both  noble 

V in  character  and  great  in  achievement.  

^STt  io  interegTmg"~to  rerord  Lessing'S  owiTVstimate 
of  himself,  which  gives  striking  evidence  of  his  sin- 
cerity and  modesty: 

“I  am  neither  an  actor  nor  a poet.  People  have 
honored  me  occasionally  with  the  latter  title,  but  it 
is  because  they  have  misunderstood  me.  The  few 


22 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


dramatic  attempts  which  I have  ventured  upon  do  not 
justify  this  generosity.  Not  every  one  who  takes  a 
brush  in  his  hand  and  dabbles  in  colors  is  a painter. 
The  earliest  of  these  attempts  of  mine  were  dashed 
off  in  those  years  when  desire  and  dexterity  are  easily 
mistaken  for  geniws.  If  there  is  anything  tolerable 
in  those  of  a later  date,  I am  conscious  that  I owe 
it  all  to  criticism  alone.  I do  not  feel  in  myself  that 
living  fountain  that  rises  by  its  own  strength,  and  by 
its  own  force  shoots  up  in  jets  so  rich,  so  fresh,  so 
pure!  I am  obliged  to  press  it  all  up  out  of  myself 
with  forcing-pump  and  pipes.  I should  be  so  poor, 
so  cold,  and  so  short-sighted  if  I had  not  learned  in 
some  measure  modestly  to  borrow  foreign  treasures, 
to  warm  myself  at  another’s  fire,  and  to  strengthen 
my  sight  with  the  lenses  of  art.  I have  therefore  al- 
ways been  ashamed  and  vexed  when  I have  read  or 
heard  anything  derogatory  to  criticism.  Criticism,  it 
is  paid,  stifles  genius ; whereas  I flatter  myself  I have 
received  from  it  something  very  nearly  akin  to  genius. 
I am  a lame  man,  who  cannot  be  edified  by  a lampoon 
against  crutches.” 

In  reviewing  the  life  of  this  man,  so  rich  in  varied 
talents,  so  purposeful  and  resolute  in  the  attainment 
of  the  highest  good,  by  means  of  truth,  one  is  reminded 
of  the  utterance  of  Heine,  a kindred  spirit,  whose 
place  in  German  literature  is  assured  and  whose  life, 
in  some  respects,  affords  an  interesting  parallel  to 
Lessing’s : 

“If  ye  will  do  me  honor,  lay  a sword  upon  my  coffin, 
for  I was  an  intrepid  soldier  in  the  war  of  the  libera- 
tion of  humanity.” 


INTRODUCTION 


I. 

GENESIS  OF  THE  POEM 

We  read  in  ancient  legends  of  giants  who  devoted 
their  lives  to  freeing  prisoners  of  their  fetters.  Less- 
ing was  such  a savior  of  the  German  spirit.  He 
searched  through  venerable  books  to  discover  men  who 
were  wronged  or  misunderstood  and  restored  them 
to  their  proper  place  in  history.  He  sought  to  liberate 
the  genius  of  his  people  from  prejudice;  its  literature 
from  slavish  dependence  upon  French  influence;  its 
theology  from  the  uncritical  worship  of  the  letter  of 
the  law;  its  national  consciousness  from  the  trammels 
of  superstition.  He  was  the  first  free-thinker  in 
Germany. 

The  Jewish  historian,  Graetz,  says:  “With  his 

gigantic  mind,  Lessing  burst  through  all  bonds  and 
regulations  which  degenerate  taste,  dry-as-dust- 
science,  haughty  orthodoxy  and  pedantry  of  every 
kind  had  desired  to  set  up  and  perpetuate.  The  free- 
dom that  Lessing  brought  to  the  Germans  was  more 
solid  and  permanent  than  that  which  Voltaire  aroused 
in  depraved  French  society,  with  his  biting  sarcasm ; 
for  his  purpose  was  to  ennoble,  and  his  wit  was  only 
a means  to  this  end.  Lessing  wished  to  exalt  the 
23 


24 


INTRODUCTION 


theatre  to  a pulpit,  and  art  to  a religion.  Voltaire 
degraded  philosophy  into  light  gossip  for  the  drawing- 
room.” 

While  Lessing  was  a skilful  apologist,  on  behalf 
of  those  whose  reputation  he  defended,  he  was  also 
a redoubtable  polemist.  Indeed,  at  one  time  in  his 
career,  controversy  was  as  breath  to  his  nostrils.  He 
was  as  much  at  home  in  the  mazes  of  doctrinal  sub- 
tlety as  in  the  domain  of  art,  criticism  and  philosophy. 
His  keen,  incisive  logic,  his  caustic  satire  (always 
devoid  of  malice) ; his  trenchant  style,  were  weapons 
which  confounded  his  foes  and  brought  consterna- 
tion to  a whole  school  of  casuists.  No  one  could 
long  endure  the  withering  cross-fire  of  his  argument, 
and,  in  all  the  battles  of  the  spirit,  he  came  off  an 
easy  victor. 

The  years  between  the  publication  of  “Emilia  Galot- 
ti”  and  “Nathan  the  Wise”  were  eventful  and  strenu- 
ous ones  for  Lessing.  They  embraced  those  famous 
theological  disputations  which  became  the  solace  and 
pride  of  his  liberal  followers.  The  most  notable  of 
these  writings  were  the  “Wolfenbiittel  Fragments” 
(begun  in  1774)  and  the  series  of  learned  philippics 
against  Melchior  Goeze,  the  pastor  of  Hamburg.  In 
these  papers,  which  bear  the  title  “Anti-Goeze”,  as 
well  as  in  numerous  other  essays,  he  employed  against 
orthodox  Christianity  all  the  resources  of  his  inexor- 
able logic  and  linguistic  talent ; but  true  enlightenment 
and  religious  tolerance  were  never  wanting  in  his 
thought.  It  was  this  element  which  made  his  plea 
so  significant  and  effective,  and  won  him  so  many 


GENESIS  OF  THE  POEM 


25 


ardent  adherents.  Unfortunately,  he  was  not  alto- 
gether free  to  express  his  ideas.  In  1778,  when 
the  controversy  with  the  fanatical  zealot,  Goeze,  was 
at  its  height,  he  was  restrained,  by  government  cen- 
sorship, from  continuing  the  conflict.  He  protested 
in  vain,  but  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  swerved  from 
his  purpose.  Compelled  to  lay  down  his  arms,  he  soon 
found,  in  the  arsenal  of  his  poetic  imagination,  another 
choice  of  weapons  and  gave  the  struggle  a new  and 
wholly  unexpected  turn. 

On  the  nth  of  August,  1778,  he  wrote  to  his 
brother  Carl:  “ . . . Many  years  ago,  I sketched 
a play,  the  contents  of  which  are  somewhat  analogous 
to  my  present  controversies,  though  I had  not  yet 
then  dreamt  of  them.  If  you  and  Moses  [Mendels- 
sohn] think  well  of  it,  I shall  have  the  thing  printed 
by  subscription  ...  Of  course,  I would  not 
like  to  have  the  actual  character  of  the  piece  made 
public  too  soon ; nevertheless,  if  you  or  Moses  are 
disposed  to  know,  consult  Boccaccio’s  Decamerone, 
Giornata  I,  Nov.  Ill,  Melchisedech  Giudeo.  I believe 
to  have  discovered  a very  absorbing  episode,  which 
makes  good  reading  and  will  certainly  enable  me  to 
play  a far  more  vexatious  prank  on  the  theologians 
than  I could  with  yet  ten  more  ‘Fragments’”.  A few 
weeks  later,  he  wrote  to  one  of  his  friends,  Elisa 
Reimarus : “I  am  curious  to  see  whether  they  will 

let  me  preach  without  interference  from  my  old  pulpit 
— the  theatre.” 

Accordingly,  he  mounted  the  pulpit  and  proclaimed 
to  the  world  his  canticle  of  tolerance,  the  gospel  of 


26 


INTRODUCTION 


--brotherly  love,  the  immortal  epic,  “Nathan  the  Wise”. 

Amid  disappointments  and  annoyances  of  every 
description ; distracted  by  the  death  of  his  wife,  which 
left  him  lonely  and  desolate ; and  incessantly  attacked 
and  maligned  by  his  clerical  foe,  he  completed  the 
poem.  The  first  rough  draft  was  finished  early  in 
November,  1776.  On  the  19th,  according  to  a notice 
discovered  among  his  papers,  he  began  the  versifica- 
tion of  the  first  act;  and  in  May,  1779,  the  printed 
work  was  delivered  to  the  subscribers. 

The  poet  chose  English  blank  verse  as  the  most 
suitable  and  dignified  vehicle  of  dramatic  expression. 
“To  finish  it  quickly”,  he  wrote,  on  December  16, 
1778,  “I  am  composing  it  in  verse,  not  in  rhymed 
meter,  however,  for  this  would  be  altogether  too  un- 
rhymed.” He  had  already  written  to  his  brother,  on 
December  7th:  “If  I have  not  already  told  you  that 
the  piece  is  to  be  in  verse,  you  will,  no  doubt,  wonder 
to  find  it  so.  Do  not  give  yourself  unnecessary  con- 
cern because  of  this,  believing  that  the  work  will  be 
delayed.  My  prose  has  invariably  cost  me  more  time 
than  my  verse.”  In  another  letter  to  a friend,  we 
read : “ . . .1  chose  the  verse  form  not  for  the 
sake  of  euphony,  but  because  the  oriental  tone,  which 
I must  accentuate,  here  and  there,  would  seem  awk- 
ward and  conspicuous  in  prose  ...” 

Thus,  Lessing  was  the  first  author  in  Germany 
to  use  the  iambic  pentameter,  and  the  noble,  stately 
diction  of  his  “Nathan”  served  as  a model  for  all 
subsequent  writers  of  tragedy.  It  is  a didactic  poem, 
conceived  in  an  altogether  new  vein  and  wholly  in- 


GENESIS  OF  THE  POEM 


27 


dependent  of  the  established  canons  of  dramatic  art. 
It  is  a tendensschrift,  full  of  majestic  thought.  With 
the  possible  exception  of  Goethe’s  “Faust”,  we  know 
of  few  similar  compositions  from  which  so  many 
memorable  sentences  may  be  culled.  Indeed,  in  tone, 
dignity,  elegance  of  diction  and  profound  sincerity, 
it  may  be  said  to  hold  equal  rank  with  it,  in  the  estima- 
tion of  critics  of  literature.  The  author  himself  was 
well  aware  of  the  difficulty  of  treating  so  exalted  a 
theme  in  dramatic  form.  “If  it  should  be  said,”  he 
remarks  in  an  early  sketch  of  his  Preface,  “that  a 
piece  of  such  peculiar  tendency  is  not  rich  enough 
in  intrinsic  beauty,  I will  keep  silent,  but  not  feel 
ashamed.  I am  conscious  of  the  goal  which  lies  be- 
fore me  and  have  no  doubt  that  one  can  acquit  one’s 
self  with  honor  in  pursuing  this  path.” 

It  is  certainly  remarkable  that  he  should  have  been 
able  to  invest  a didactic  theme  with  such  vividness 
and  sympathy  as  to  awaken  a profound  emotional 
response  in  the  heart  of  his  audience,  whenever  pre- 
sented on  the  stage.  The  characters  of  the  play,  al- 
though they  typify  certain  definite  ideas  which  he 
wished  to  convey,  are  not  abstractions,  as  in  an  al- 
legory, but  possess  truth,  individuality  and  intense 
dramatic  power.  Here,  as  in  “Emilia  Galotti”,  we 
see  the  action  of  the  play  develop  as  a natural  and 
logical  necessity. 

The  poet’s  own  conception  of  his  task  is  clearly 
stated  in  his  Preface: 

“If  it  should  be  said  that  this  piece  teaches,  that  it 
is  not  only  since  yesterday  that  people  of  all  nations 


28 


INTRODUCTION 


make  light  of  revealed  religion  and  yet  are  known 
to  be  estimable  persons ; and  when  it  is  further  noted 
that  I have  quite  clearly  designed  to  show  such  people 
in  a less  repulsive  light  than  they  are  accustomed  to 
be  regarded  by  the  ordinary  Christian  rabble, — I 
should  not  have  very  much  objection  to  such  a view, 
for  a man  may  teach  both  and  yet  not  reject  all  re- 
vealed religion.  I am  not  sly  enough  to  represent 
myself  as  such  a man,  yet  I am  bold  enough  not  to 
dissemble  my  opinions.  But,  if  it  should  be  said  that 
I have  offended  against  poetic  good  taste,  and  that  it 
is  inconceivable  that  such  characters  should  have 
lived  among  Jews  and  Mussulmen,  I will  have  it  known 
that  the  Jews  and  Mussulmen  were  the  only  learned 
men  at  that  time ; that  the  detriment  which  revealed 
religions  bring  to  mankind  must  have  been  at  no  time 
more  striking  to  a rational  being  than  at  the  period 
of  the  Crusades;  and  that  historical  proofs  are  not 
wanting  to  demonstrate  the  fact  that  such  an  enlight- 
ened individual  actually  existed  in  the  person  of  a 
Sultan 

I know  as  yet  of  no  locality  in  Germany  where  this 
play  could  be  produced,  but  all  hail  to  the  place  where 
it  will  first  see  the  light  of  day !” 

Kuno  Fischer,  the  eminent  German  critic,  whose 
essay  on  “Nathan  the  Wise”  gives  perhaps  the  most 
exhaustive  analysis  of  the  drama  (an  English  version 
is  printed,  in  part,  in  the  Appendix  to  Miss  Ellen 
Frothingham’s  translation,  published  in  New  York,  in 
1867),  indulges  in  considerable  sophistry  in  pointing 
out  the  strong  antithesis  between  the  character  of 


GENESIS  OF  THE  POEM 


29 


Nathan  and  Shylock,  forgetting,  for  the  moment, 
that,  in  reality,  Shakespeare’s  creation,  as  has  been 
definitely  proven,  was  a Christian  and  not  a Jew.  In 
this  connection,  another  great  writer  demands  to  know 
whether  Lessing  could  have  found  a Christian  hero 
who  would  rear  an  orphan  child,  committed  to  his 
care,  free  from  the  trammels  of  creed.  Only  a Jew 
could  have  pursued  such  a course,  for  proselytizing 
is  foreign  to  his  nature,  and  he  is  inherently  broad  in 
his  religious  principles.  Thus,  the  main  motive  of 
the  drama  is  fully  justified. 

In  accounting  for  the  fact  that  Nathan  is  made  the 
hero,  Kuno  Fischer  has  this  to  say:  “Take,  now,  a 

religion  by  nature  intolerant  and  proud,  the  proudest, 
the  most  oppressed  of  all  the  religions  of  the  world. 
Imagine  a man  permitted  by  his  religion  to  esteem 
himself  the  chosen  of  God,  but  condemned  by  the 
world,  despised  and  rejected  of  men.  If  his  soul 
yields  to  this  two-fold  pressure,  and  follows  the  nat- 
ural course  of  human  passions,  it  must  be  consumed 
by  hatred  and  revenge.  There  must  be  kindled  a 
thirst  for  vengeance,  so  demoniacal,  so  beastly  in  beast- 
ly natures,  that  it  would  tear  the  pound  of  flesh  from 
an  enemy’s  heart,  if  only  to  bait  a hook  with  it.  Yet, 
when  these  passions,  which  in  their  worst  and  lowest 
forms  make  a Shylock,  are  conquered  by  a noble 
soul — when  toleration  is  wrested  from  a religion  at 
once  the  proudest  and  most  oppressed,  we  have  a 
Nathan.  He  will  not  now,  indeed,  narrowly  represent 
his  religion ; but  toleration  would  not  cost  what  it 
does,  if  he  did  not  prize  his  religion  and  were  not  in 


30 


INTRODUCTION 


sympathy  with  it.  He  still  feels  it  to  be  his  religion, 
the  faith  of  his  people  and  his  fathers — the  faith  to 
which  he  is  linked  by  a thousand  indissoluble  ties. 
He  does  not  represent  Judaism,  but  he  is  and  remains 
a Jew — not  because  Judaism  is  a tolerant  religion, 
but  because  it  is  the  reverse  ...” 

While  the  critic  accepts  the  theory  that  Lessing, 
in  his  hero,  depicted  his  friend,  Mendelssohn,  he  seems 
to  be  unwilling  to  recognize  in  the  great  philosopher 
those  shining  qualities  which  Lessing  so  deeply  ad- 
mired in  his  Jewish  friend.  To  him,  as  to  many  others, 
such  a Jew,  in  the  flesh,  would  be  almost  an  anomaly, 
and  it  is  for  this  reason  that  we  are  constrained  to 
turn  our  attention  to  the  relations  which  existed  be- 
tween the  two  friends. 

It  might  be  pointed  out,  in  passing,  that  the  poet 
unconsciously  adverted  to  a historical  fact  when  he 
made  Nathan  a power  at  the  court  of  Saladin.  In  the 
Middle  Ages,  Jews  engaged  in  the  learned  professions 
were  frequently  to  be  found  in  the  entourage  of  their 
royal  masters.  Thus,  to  mention  but  a few,  Dunash 
Ibn  Tamim  was  court  physician  about  the  year  950; 
Abu  Mansur  (flourished  1125),  and  Ibn  Firkah  were 
physicians  of  the  Caliph  Al-Hafiz ; Nathanael  Israeli, 
the  Egyptian  (about  1150),  served  in  the  same  capa- 
city to  the  last  Fatimite  Caliph  of  Egypt  and  to  the 
great  Saladin.  Abu  al-Bayyan  al-Mudavvar  (died 
1184)  and  Abu  al-Ma’ali,  brother-in-law  of  Maimon- 
ides,  were  likewise  in  the  sendee  of  that  illustrious 
monarch.  Moses  Maimonides  himself  (1135  to  1205), 
the  greatest  thinker  among  the  Jews,  was  devoted 


GENESIS  OF  THE  POEM 


31 


particularly  to  the  study  of  medicine,  in  which  he  dis- 
tinguished himself  to  such  a degree  that  “the  King  of 
the  Franks  in  Ascalon,”  who  is  said  to  be  identical 
with  King  Richard  I of  England  (Coeur  de  Lion), 
wanted  to  appoint  him  as  his  physician,  and  became  so 
eminent  in  his  profession  that  Alfadhel,  Vizier  of 
Saladin,  bestowed  upon  him  many  distinctions.  The 
name  of  Maimonides  was  entered  on  the  roll  of  physi- 
cians ; he  received  a pension  and  was  introduced  to 
the  court  of  Saladin.  In  a letter  written  to  another 
learned  Jew  of  his  time,  he  says: 

“I  reside  in  Egypt ; the  King  resides  in  Cairo,  which 
lies  about  two  Sabbath-day  journeys  from  the  first- 
named  place.  My  duties  to  the  King  are  very  heavy. 
I am  obliged  to  visit  him  every  day,  early  in  the  morn- 
ing; and  when  he  or  any  of  his  children,  or  the  in- 
mates of  his  harem,  are  indisposed,  I dare  not  quit 
Cairo,  but  must  stay,  during  the  greater  part  of  the 
day  in  the  palace.  It  also  frequently  happens  that 
one  or  two  of  the  royal  officers  fall  sick,  and  then  I 
have  to  attend  them.  As  a rule,  I go  to  Cairo  very 
early  in  the  day,  and,  even  if  nothing  unusual  happens, 
I do  not  return  before  the  afternoon,  when  I am  al- 
most dead  with  hunger;  but  I find  the  antechambers 
filled  with  Jews  and  Gentiles,  with  nobles  and  common 
people,  awaiting  my  return  ...” 

From  the  last  part  of  this  letter,  it  may  be  deduced 
that  Saladin  was  indeed  an  enlightened  prince,  to 
whom  people  of  all  races  and  religions  had  ready 
access.  He  allowed  the  Jews  to  settle  in  Jerusalem; 
accorded  them  full  protection,  as  he  did  to  all  aliens, 


32 


INTRODUCTION 


even  his  enemies;  and  the  Jews  rose  to  great  power 
and  distinction,  under  his  rule.  The  testimony  of  the 
great  Jewish  philosopher  is,  therefore,  sufficient  to 
vindicate  Lessing’s  portraiture  of  Saladin. 

If  this  proof  be  inadequate,  one  has  but  to  con- 
sider, in  the  light  of  history,  the  intimate  relations 
between  the  poet  and  the  man  who  is  sometimes  de- 
scribed by  Christian  writers  as  the  “Jewish  Socrates”, 
in  order  to  establish  the  fact  that  the  picture  we  have 
of  him,  in  Nathan,  is  faithful  to  life  in  every  detail 
and  that  Lessing  did  not  have  to  draw  upon  his  im- 
agination to  present  so  lofty  and  ideal  a character. 


MOSES  MENDELSSOHN 

(From  a rare  engraving  by  Prof,  J.  G.  Miiller,  Stuttgart,  1786) 


II. 

LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 

Moses  Mendelssohn,  deformed  and  unprepossessing 
in  appearance,  like  Aesop;  puny  in  stature  and  weak 
in  body,  was  undoubtedly  one  of  the  greatest  intellects 
in  his  day.  Reared  in  poverty,  and  occupied,  day  and 
night,  in  the  study  of  the  Jewish  Law,  he  overcame 
not  only  his  natural  limitations,  but  the  civic  and  so- 
cial disabilities  under  which  his  co-religionists  suf- 
fered. Risen  from  the  ranks,  and  unaided,  save  by 
his  own  exalted  ideals  and  singular  attainments,  he 
soon  enjoyed  the  protection  of  Frederick  the  Great, 
who  accorded  him  special  honors  and  made  him  a 
“Court  Jew.”  He  thus  affords  a striking  parallel 
to  Nathan  in  the  drama.  His  elevation  to  fame  left 
him  simple,  modest  and  unassuming,  and  he  used  what- 
ever power  and  influence  he  had  to  ameliorate  the  con- 
dition of  his  downtrodden  people.  Staunch  in  his  con- 
victions; resolute  in  character;  brave  and  dauntless, 
as  the  Jew  in  Lessing’s  epic,  he  broke  a lance  with 
the  great  Emperor  on  many  an  occasion,  fearlessly 
discussing  weighty  problems  with  him  and  venturing 
so  far  as  to  criticize  his  royal  master.  How  closely 
this  intrepid  philosopher  resembles  the  gentle,  astute, 
magnanimous  Jew  in  Lessing’s  story ! He  was,  in 
spirit  and  in  flesh,  the  prototype  of  the  poet’s  creation. 

33 


INTRODUCTION 


From  the  Middle  Ages,  when  the  Jew  was  supreme 
in  national  culture  and  in  the  wide  range  of  his  at- 
tainments, to  the  early  decades  of  the  18th  century, 
when  he  lapsed  into  degradation  and  self-sufficiency, 
is  a long  cry.  It  was  reserved  for  Mendelssohn  (born 
December  6,  1729;  died  January  4,  1784)  to  analyze 
and  interpret  this  condition.  “My  people  have  sunk 
to  such  a low  cultural  level,”  writes  he,  “that  one  de- 
spairs of  the  possibility  of  effecting  a change  for  the 
better.”  But  this  pessimistic  conviction  and  prophecy 
did  not  deter  him  from  removing  the  spiritual  fetters 
of  his  people  and  awakening  in  them  a love  for  the 
beautiful,  the  true  and  the  good.  A stammering 
cripple,  outwardly  repulsive,  but  cherishing  high  ideals 
and  harboring  a lofty  soul,  he  was  able,  by  his  genius, 
discernment,  sympathy  and  understanding,  to  eman- 
cipate his  nation  from  the  physical  and  spiritual  thral- 
dom in  which  it  lived.  And  when  we  know  the  full 
story  of  his  achievements,  his  unhandsome  exterior  is 
soon  forgotten.  His  dwarfed  body  takes  on  a giant’s 
stature,  and  we  behold  in  him  a second  Moses,  leading 
his  benighted  and  enslaved  people  from  the  darkness 
into  the  light. 

The  Renaissance  of  the  Jews  was  brought  about  by 
no  conscious  effort  on  his  part;  indeed,  he  doubted 
that  it  could  be  effected  at  all.  Timid  and  diffident 
by  nature,  he  shunned  all  publicity  and  did  not  make 
himself  felt  by  engaging  in  any  active  propaganda 
on  behalf  of  his  race.  Even  when  he  was  called 
upon  to  lead,  he  declined  to  serve,  modestly  disclaim- 
ing any  qualification  for  such  a task.  But,  without 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


35 


knowing  it  himself,  he  exerted  a potent  influence  upon 
the  regeneration  of  the  Jewish  people.  He  unwittingly 
aroused  the  dormant  recuperative  faculty  of  the  race, 
which  only  needed  the  inspiration  of  such  a person- 
ality to  enable  it  to  emerge  from  its  low  estate  and  to 
develop  to  its  fullest  power.  His  biography,  therefore, 
is  actually  the  history  of  the  Jews  of  modern  times. 
It  is  the  record  of  their  struggle  and  salvation;  of 
their  providential  redemption  from  obscurity  and 
ignominy  and  their  attainment  to  recognition  and  self- 
consciousness. 

Though  practically  self-taught,  he  was  trained  in 
science,  as  in  polite  literature,  by  Jewish  teachers,  who 
had,  in  a measure,  emancipated  themselves  from  the 
prejudices  of  their  time.  Maimonides  became  his  in- 
tellectual mentor,  and  he  passionately  devoted  himself 
to  the  study  of  his  works.  From  this  source,  he  de- 
rived his  keen,  penetrating  logic,  his  love  for  philo- 
sophic thought  and  his  lucidity  of  expression. 

By  seclusion  and  self-abnegation,  he  learned  to 
develop  his  character.  He  tamed  his  wild,  hectic  tem- 
perament until  his  emotions  became  subservient  to  his 
reason.  Indeed,  he  had  become  so  mild  and  forbear- 
ing that,  when,  at  the  zenith  of  his  fame,  some  insolent 
students  at  Konigsberg  made  cruel  sport  of  his  natural 
infirmities,  scoffed  at  his  hump  and  his  pointed  beard, 
he  remained  impassive  and  retorted  amiably : “I  am 
only  waiting  to  hear  Professor  Kant’s  discourse.”  In 
common  with  his  other  learned  co-religionists,  he  used 
the  Hebrew  language  as  a vehicle  of  literary  expres- 
sion, but,  in  this  also,  he  effected  a startling  trans- 


36 


INTRODUCTION 


formation.  His  was  a golden  touch.  The  clumsy, 
technical,  artificial  style  then  in  vogue  eventually  gave 
way  to  a clear,  easy-flowing  and  brilliant  prose — his 
own  earliest  compositions  serving  as  models  which 
have  rarely  been  excelled.  His  writings  were  in- 
stinct with  life  and  conformed  to  the  modern  spirit, 
which  permeated  all  his  work.  The  conflict  between 
the  old  and  new  order  of  things  still  stirred  within 
him  when  the  one  man  came  into  his  life  who  was  to 
bring  him  clarity  of  view,  a broader  vision  and  truer 
self-consciousness. 

It  was  in  1754  that  Lessing  first  became  acquainted 
with  the  cultured  little  savant  of  Berlin,  then  only  25 
years  old,  “with  whose  lips”,  Carlyle  tells  us,  “Soc- 
rates spoke  like  Socrates  in  German,  as  in  no  modern 
language,  for  his  own  character  was  Socratic” ; and 
of  whom  Alexander  I,  the  enlightened  Czar  of  Russia, 
said,  in  commemorating  the  emancipation  of  the  Jews 
of  his  empire,  that  his  greatest  reward  would  be  to 
produce  a Mendelssohn. 

It  was  another  Jew,  Isaac  Hess*,  a lover  of  chess, 
who  brought  these  kindred  spirits  together.  “The 
royal  game”,  Graetz  aptly  observes,  “united  two 
monarchs  in  the  domain  of  thought”.  And  the  bond 


* According  to  the  Jewish  Encyclopedia,  VIII,  479  it 
was  Aaron  Solomon  Gumperz,  a wealthy  medical  student, 
who  introduced  Mendelssohn  to  Lessing  as  a good  chess 
player.  Gumperz  taught  Mendelssohn  French  and  English, 
inspired  him  with  a taste  for  science  and  philosophy,  and 
was  instrumental  in  bringing  him  to  the  attention  of 
Maupertuis,  President  of  the  Berlin  Academy,  and  other 
notables. 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


37 


was  to  last  through  life.  The  poet’s  democratic  nature 
knew  no  distinction.  He  eagerly  sought  the  com- 
pany of  those  who  were  the  despised  and  rejected 
of  men.  He  numbered  among  his  friends  men  of  the 
type  of  Kant,  Abbt,  Garve,  Reimarus,  Kleist,  Lavater 
and  others  more  or  less  distinguished ; but  he  also 
deigned  to  associate  with  the  dreamers  of  the  Ghetto. 
In  his  writings  he  speaks  in  appreciative  terms  of 
several  eminent  Jewish  scholars,  who  were  then  strug- 
gling for  recognition,  and  he  demonstrated,  whenever 
occasion  arose,  his  catholic  sympathies. 

Already  in  1747,  seven  years  before  he  met  Mendels- 
sohn, Lessing  had  given  striking  evidence  of  his 
broad-mindedness.  When  his  compatriots  everywhere 
scorned  them,  he  took  up  the  cudgels  in  their  defense, 
by  presenting,  in  his  comedy,  “The  Jew”,  an  Israelite 
without  guile,  whose  personal  integrity  and  loftiness 
of  character  afford  an  interesting  contrast  to  the  type 
of  Christian  philistines  he  describes  in  the  play.  A 
brief  synopsis  of  it  may  not  be  out  of  place: 

A Jewish  traveler  rescues  a German  nobleman  from 
murderous  assault  of  robbers  and  rejects  all  rec- 
ompense for  his  services.  He  gracefully  declines  the 
hand  of  the  Baron’s  daughter,  which  was  preferred 
as  an  expression  of  gratitude,  and,  when,  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  the  company,  he  reveals  himself  as  a Jew, 
he  exclaims,  with  conscious  pride,  after  hearing  all 
manner  of  abuse  heaped  upon  his  race  by  the  people 
whom  he  had  befriended  : 

“All  the  reward  I ask  is  this — that  hereafter  you 
may  judge  my  nation  more  leniently  and  not  condemn 


38 


INTRODUCTION 


it  without  a hearing.  I disguised  my  true  origin,  not 
because  I was  ashamed,  but  because  I perceived  that 
you  were  attached  to  my  person,  while  you  were  re- 
pelled by  my  people.” 

To  his  own  servant,  whom  he  had  saved  from  need 
and  misery,  and  who  blurts  out  this  protest,  upon 
learning  that  his  master  is  a Jew : “You  have  offended 
in  me  the  whole  of  Christendom  by  engaging  me,  in- 
stead of  entering  into  my  service”,  he  makes  this  re- 
tort: “I  cannot  credit  you  with  nobler  motives  than 

the  rest  of  the  Christian  rabble”.  He  likewise  pays 
his  respects  to  the  Baron,  the  proud  representative  of 
the  exclusive  set,  who,  taken  off  his  feet  by  this  un- 
expected turn  of  affairs,  cries  out  in  admiration : “O 
how  estimable  would  be  the  Jews,  if  they  all  resembled 
you!”  To  which  the  Jew  replies:  “And  how  estim- 
able would  be  the  Christians,  if  they  all  had  your  fine 
qualities !” 

It  must  have  afforded  the  author  great  satisfaction 
to  have  created  an  ideal  Jewish  character  long  before 
he  had  come  into  actual  contact  with  Mendelssohn, 
who  justified  to  the  world  the  accuracy  of  the  fanciful 
portrait  he  had  drawn  in  this  comedy,  written  in  his 
eighteenth  year. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  this  youthful  perform- 
ance provoked  considerable  criticism.  One  reviewer, 
comparing  it  with  Gellert’s  “Swedish  Countess”,  which 
also  exalts  the  Jewish  character,  maintains  that,  while 
it  is  possible  that  such  a noble  type  exists  among  the 
Jews,  it  is  altogether  improbable  that  he  is  anything 
but  a rare  exception,  since  the  race  is  given  to  trading 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


39 


and  has  more  opportunities  and  temptations  for 
crooked  dealing  than  people  in  other  professions.  In 
examining  this  sweeping  assertion,  Lessing  has  this 
to  say,  in  a special  article,  written  seven  years  after 
the  publication  of  the  play : 

“My  antagonist  declares  that  such  a Jew  cannot  be 
true  to  life,  because  he  lives  amid  degradation  and 
oppression  and  is  obliged  to  subsist  solely  by  trade. 
Granted ; but,  does  it  necessarily  follow  that  the  im- 
probability is  not  eliminated  if  these  adverse  circum- 
stances are  changed?  But  when  can  this  come  to  pass? 
Undoubtedly,  only  when  the  Jew  begins  to  feel  the 
scorn  and  obloquy  of  the  Christians  in  a lesser  degree 
and  is  not  constrained  to  eke  out  a wretched  existence 
in  petty,  despicable  barter.  What  then  becomes  the 
next  requisite?  Affluence?  O yes,  the  right  use  of 
riches  is  also  of  prime  importance.  It  should  be  ob- 
served that  both  of  these  conditions  are  met  in  the 
character  of  my  Jew  in  the  comedy.  He  is  wealthy; 
he  himself  declares  that  the  God  of  his  fathers  had 
given  him  more  than  he  needed  ; I make  him  a traveler ; 
I undertake  to  shield  him  from  natural  imputations  of 
ignorance ; he  is  a reader,  who  is  not  without  books 
even  on  his  journeys.  If  then  you  ask  whether  it  can 
actually  be  true  that  my  Jew  should  have  educated  him- 
self ; and  insist  that  wealth,  a more  fortunate  experi- 
ence, and  an  enlightened  mind,  cannot  effect  a salutary 
change  in  a Jew,  I must  reply  that  it  is  this  very 
prejudice  which  I have  attempted  to  combat  in  my 
comedy — a prejudice  which  can  flow  only  from  hatred 
and  pride  and  makes  the  Jew  not  only  a boor,  but  a 


40 


INTRODUCTION 


pariah  of  mankind.  If  my  co-religionists  cannot  over- 
come this  prejudice,  I dare  not  flatter  myself  that  my 
piece  will  ever  be  graciously  received.  Would  I then 
be  able  to  persuade  them  to  give  every  Jew  credit  for 
probity  and  magnanimity,  or,  at  least,  to  attribute 
these  qualities  to  most  of  them?  Let  me  say  quite 
plainly:  even  if  my  traveler  were  a Christian,  his  would 
be  a singularly  rare  character,  and,  if  rareness  con- 
stitutes an  improbability,  then  it  would  be  improbable 
indeed.” 

Abruptly  discontinuing  the  vindication  of  his  point 
of  view  with  the  remark  that  one  ought  to  strive  to 
know  deserving  Jews  more  intimately  and  cease  to  rail 
against  them,  because  the  type  that  is  usually  in  evi- 
dence at  the  annual  fair  is  repugnant  to  the  cultured, 
Lessing  declares  that  he  prefers  to  set  forth  the  testi- 
mony of  one  “who  is  as  witty  as  he  is  learned  and  up- 
right and  whom  he  knows  too  well  to  deny  him  an 
audience”.  He  suspects  that  the  letter  which  he  sub- 
joins from  this  source  will  be  considered  an  inven- 
tion on  his  part  and  begs  the  reader  to  convince  him- 
self of  its  authenticity. 

This  remarkable  document,  we  are  told,  was  anony- 
mously addressed  by  its  author  to  another  Jewish 
friend,  who,  Lessing  adds,  is  “wholly  akin  to  him  in 
noble  attributes”.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  this  un- 
named scribe  is  Mendelssohn,  who  directed  an  impas- 
sioned protest  against  Michaelis,  the  reviewer  of  the 
play,  to  his  erstwhile  teacher,  Doctor  Gumperz,  a 
learned  physician  and  authority  in  mathematics,  act- 
ing, at  the  time,  as  private  secretary  to  Maupertuis, 
the  academician. 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


41 


This  information  is  furnished  by  Karl  Lessing,  the 
poet’s  brother,  who,  as  the  biographer  and  annotator 
of  his  works,  was  in  a position  to  know  all  the  details 
of  his  life.  In  the  course  of  his  dignified,  but  in- 
dignant rejoinder,  Mendelssohn  bitterly  denounces  the 
view  that  the  Jew  in  Lessing’s  play  should  be  deemed 
a fanciful  exaggeration  and  not  the  characterization 
of  an  existing  type.  One  would  expect,  says  he,  more 
honesty  and  forbearance  from  scholars  who  are  so 
punctilious  in  their  own  demands,  but  are  themselves 
quite  devoid  of  fairness  and  sweet  reasonableness. 

“How  sadly  I have  erred  in  my  hope  to  be  meted 
out  that  justice  by  Christian  writers  which  they  exact 
from  others!’’ 

“Verily”,  he  continues,  “how  dare  a man,  with  a 
spark  of  integrity  in  his  soul,  assert  that  there  is  not 
a single  upright  individual  to  be  found  in  a whole 
nation!  A race  from  which  Lessing  boasts  that  all 
the  prophets  and  the  greatest  kings  have  sprung!  Is 
this  cruel  judgment  justifiable?  If  so,  what  a dis- 
grace for  humanity;  if  unjustifiable,  what  a disgrace 
for  him  who  makes  the  charge ! Is  it  not  enough  that 
we  must  suffer  Christian  hatred  in  so  many  cruel 
ways;  shall  such  injustice  be  still  further  fortified 
by  calumny?  Let  them  persist  in  their  persecutions; 
let  them  keep  us  isolated  in  a commonwealth  of  free 
and  happy  citizens ; yea,  let  them  expose  us  to  the 
scorn  and  derision  of  the  entire  world ; but  our  virtue, 
the  solace  of  all  stricken  souls,  the  only  refuge  of  the 
utterly  forsaken,  they  shall  not  venture  to  take  away 
from  us!” 


42 


INTRODUCTION 


He  continues  in  this  strain  at  some  length,  vindicat- 
ing with  fiery  eloquence  the  innate  decency  and  moral- 
ity of  his  race,  whose  ethical  precepts  and  domestic 
qualities  are  too  universally  recognized  to  require  a 
defence;  and  concludes  by  saying  that  he  pities  the 
person  “who  can  read  such  an  arraignment  of  an 
entire  people  without  a shudder”. 

Lessing  finally  adds,  by  way  of  postscript  to  this 
protest,  that  he  has  also  the  reply  to  it  before  him, 
written  in  some  heat  by  the  erudite  physician,  to  whom 
it  is  addressed,  and  that  he  can  assure  the  public  that 
“both  correspondents  have  contrived  to  acquire  enough 
virtue  and  wisdom  without  riches”  and  that  he  is  con- 
vinced that  “they  would  have  more  followers  among 
their  own  people  if  only  good  Christians  suffered  them 
to  emerge  from  their  obscurity  and  permitted  them  to 
hold  up  their  heads  a little  higher”. 

Seven  years  had  passed  since  the  young  poet’s 
comedy  appeared,  in  which  he  strove  to  reinstate  the 
much-despised  Jew  in  the  estimation  of  his  com- 
patriots. His  ideals  and  aspirations  had  kept  pace 
with  his  unfolding  genius,  and  his  spiritual  develop- 
ment was  further  enhanced  by  the  loyal  friendship 
of  two  men  with  whom  he  came  in  close  personal 
contact  during  his  second  sojourn  in  Berlin.  These 
men  were  Friedrich  Nicolai,  a youthful  bookseller, 
who  had  already  won  his  spurs  in  literature,  and  Moses 
Mendelssohn,  the  philosopher,  then  still  unknown,  of 
about  the  same  age  as  Lessing,  employed  in  a silk 
factory.  The  three  men  were  uncommonly  congenial. 
Mendelssohn’s  special  knowledge  of  English  literature. 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


43 


in  which  the  others  were  deeply  interested,  proved 
to  be  the  bond  which  united  them  in  literary  and  social 
fellowship.  In  addition  to  these,  Lessing’s  intimate 
circle  of  friends  included  Professor  Sulzer  and  Rain- 
ier, the  celebrated  writer  of  odes. 

In  character  and  attainments,  Lessing  and  Mendels- 
sohn were  singularly  alike ; yet  each,  in  his  excessive 
modesty,  admired  in  the  other  the  very  qualities  which 
distinguished  both.  Mendelssohn  was  attracted  to 
Lessing  by  reason  of  his  broad  culture,  his  brilliancy 
and  daring,  his  freedom  from  all  restraint,  and  a cer- 
tain brotherly  sympathy  which  cheered  and  warmed 
his  heart.  He  once  declared  that  a genial  glance  from 
his  eye  had  the  effect  of  banishing  all  anxiety  and 
sorrow. 

What  Lessing,  on  the  other  hand,  cherished  most 
in  his  Jewish  friend,  was  his  great  strength  of  char- 
acter, the  roots  of  which  lay  in  his  ethical  conscious- 
ness; his  eager  quest  of  truth  and  his  loftiness  of 
thought.  They  reciprocally  influenced  each  other’s 
destiny.  Lessing  saw  in  Mendelssohn  “a  second 
Spinoza,  who  would  do  honor  to  his  nation”.  He  in- 
spired in  him  a profound  interest  in  aesthetics,  poetry 
and  art,  and  was  amply  compensated  by  the  stimulus 
for  philosophic  thought  he  received  from  Mendelssohn. 
Thus  the  bond  of  amity  between  them  became  closer 
and  closer,  lasting  not  only  through  life,  but  even  be- 
yond the  grave. 

t “It  may  be  said,  without  exaggeration,  that  Less- 
ing’s influence  was  greater  in  ennobling  the  Jewish 
race  than  in  elevating  the  German  people,  due  to  the 


44 


INTRODUCTION 


fact  that  the  Jews  were  more  eager  for  study  and 
more  susceptible  to  culture.  All  that  Mendelssohn 
gained  by  intercourse  with  his  friend  benefited  Juda- 
ism  Mendelssohn  was  introduced  into 

his  circle,  learned  the  amenities  of  society  and  threw 
off  the  awkwardness  which  was  the  stamp  of  the 
Ghetto.” 

That  Lessing  did  this  for  his  friend  is  proof  of 
his  nobility  of  heart ; that  Mendelssohn  availed  himself 
of  the  opportunities  thus  presented  redounded  to  his 
everlasting  glory,  for,  in  entering  this  new,  strange 
world  of  men  and  ideas,  he  unquestionably  created  a 
memorable  epoch  in  Jewish  history.  He  accomplished 
the  spiritual  and  intellectual  emancipation  of  his 
people.  It  heartens  one,  even  to-day,  to  read  how 
wisely  and  gently  he  bore  himself  in  his  own  domestic 
life,  as  well  as  in  select  society;  how  everybody  de- 
ferred to  him,  bowed  to  his  decision  and  paid  him  re- 
spectful homage.  No  personage  of  worth  visited  Ber- 
lin without  doing  him  reverence,  after  he  had  reached 
the  zenith  of  his  fame  and  his  exemplary  virtues  as 
man  and  thinker  had  come  to  be  universally  recog- 
nized. 

Mendelssohn’s  greatest  merit  was  his  complete  mas- 
tery of  German  style,  which  was  the  direct  result  of  his 
association  with  his  Christian  compatriots.  It  required 
courage  to  challenge  the  established  traditions  of  the 
Ghetto.  To  read  a German  book  was  regarded  a here- 
sy, in  his  day.  He  could  recall  an  episode  in  his  boy- 
hood when  one  of  his  co-religionists  was  expelled 
from  Berlin  for  such  as  offense.  That  was  in  the 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


45 


early  forties  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Ten  years 
later  appeared  Mendelssohn’s  maiden  effort  in  Ger- 
man. He  learned  to  write  the  language  with  con- 
siderable difficulty,  but  he  soon  acquired  a perfection 
of  style  seldom  attained  by  any  one  of  his  contem- 
poraries. He  wrote  as  he  spoke,  placidly  and  distinct- 
ly, without  artifice  or  striving  after  effect.  Everyone 
could  follow  his  thought,  however  subtle,  and  realized 
that  a new  star  had  risen  in  the  literary  firmament. 

The  Jews  too  understood  him.  He  had  cast  a spell 
on  Berlin,  on  Germany — the  spell  of  redemption.  A 
far-reaching  Reformation  set  in,  such  as  Judaism  in 
all  its  centuries  of  wandering  had  seldom  experienced. 
History  teaches  that  a spiritual  renaissance  is  frequent- 
ly brought  about  by  some  distinctive  literary  achieve- 
ment. What  Ulfilas,  the  Goth,  Luther,  the  rugged 
German,  and  Wycliffe,  the  Briton,  had  accomplished 
for  humanity  by  their  respective  Bible  translations, 
Mendelssohn  wrought  for  his  despised  race,  by  his 
epoch-making  version  of  the  Pentateuch  and  the 
Psalms,  in  the  German  vernacular.  It  had  all  the 
beauty,  dignity  and  strength  of  the  Hebrew  original 
and  initiated  the  Jews  in  Germany,  Austria,  Russia 
and  Poland  in  the  study  of  correct  and  graceful  Ger- 
man style.  Written  for  the  benefit  of  his  own  chil- 
dren, it  became  the  instrument  of  Jewish  emancipation. 
It  remains  a national  classic — a spiritual  heritage  for 
all  times. 

As  the  first  result  of  his  researches  in  English  litera- 
ture, Lessing  wrote,  in  collaboration  with  Mendels- 
sohn, an  anonymous,  satirical  treatise,  entitled  “Pope 


46 


INTRODUCTION 


as  a Metaphysician”,  called  forth  by  a prize  offered 
by  the  Berlin  Academy.  In  this  essay,  published  in 
1755,  the  authors  zealously  defend  the  teachings  of 
Leibnitz.  Mendelssohn  was  an  enthusiastic  disciple 
of  his  school  of  philosophy,  and,  though  decidedly 
antagonistic  to  Spinoza’s  pantheistic  doctrines, 
entered  the  lists  on  his  behalf  in  another  anonymous 
work,  entitled  “Philosophic  Dialogues”,  which  ap- 
peared in  the  same  year.  With  the  exception  of  the 
masterly  letter  to  Gumperz,  which  he  had  written  in 
answer  to  Lessing’s  anti-Jewish  critics,  and  from  which 
we  have  given  extracts,  this  was  his  first  literary 
production  in  German.  One  day,  the  frank  and  boy- 
ish Lessing  came  with  a laugh  to  Mendelssohn’s  desk, 
in  the  counting-room,  holding  in  his  hand  a volume 
'fresh  from  printer  and  binder.  To  the  amazement 
of  Mendelssohn,  it  was  a manuscript  of  his  own,  which 
he  had  modestly  withheld  from  the  press.  His  friend, 
however,  had  taken  it  without  his  knowledge  and  was 
spreading  it  far  and  wide  in  an  ample  edition.  Its 
success  was  so  marked,  that  he  became  henceforth  a 
prolific  and  versatile  bookman.  Lessing,  therefore, 
enjoys  the  distinction  of  having  introduced  Mendels- 
sohn into  the  world  of  letters. 

The  true  authorship  of  the  essay  on  Pope  could 
not  long  remain  hidden.  It  is  significant  that  Mendels- 
sohn would  not  agree  to  be  named  as  collaborator, 
preferring  to  let  Lessing  reap  all  the  honors  (see  Less- 
ing’s letter  to  Mendelssohn  of  February  18,  1755). 
However,  the  facts  soon  became  known,  and  the 
youthful  philosopher  was  enthusiastically  hailed  by 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


47 


the  Academicians.  In  court  circles  too,  they  wished 
to  know  “the  young  Hebrew  who  wrote  in  German”. 
The  purity  of  his  style,  his  gift  for  popular  presenta- 
tion of  abstract  themes,  and,  above  all,  his  evident 
sincerity,  captivated  not  only  German  readers,  but  all 
lovers  of  philosophy  and  literature.  Among  those 
who  appreciated  him  was  Kant,  the  greatest  thinker 
of  modern  times,  who  called  him  a genius,  “destined 
to  create  a new  epoch  in  metaphysics  and  to  establish 
an  altogether  new  norm  of  criticism”.  In  a letter 
to  Dr.  Marcus  Herz,  the  well-known  physician — who 
gave  lectures  on  the  philosophy  of  Kant,  which  were 
attended  by  all  the  notables  of  the  city,  including  the 
princes  of  royal  blood,  and  whose  beautiful  wife  is 
remembered  for  the  part  she  played  in  the  social  and 
literary  life  of  the  great  metropolis — the  famous  author 
of  the  “Critique  of  Pure  Reason”  writes  as  follows: 
“While  it  is  not  altogether  desirable  that  all  writers 
should  have  a peculiar  style,  any  more  than  that  all 
trees  should  bear  a distinctive  bark;  nevertheless, 
Mendelssohn’s  manner  of  expressing  himself  appears 
to  me  to  be  the  most  suitable  for  philosophic  discourse. 
It  is  so  free  from  all  passion  for  dazzling  ornament 
and  yet  so  elegant;  so  sagacious  and  yet  so  clear;  so 
penetrating,  though  it  makes  no  visible  effort  to  stir 
the  emotions  at  all.  If  the  Muses  should  give  Phil- 
osophy a tongue,  it  would  speak  his  language.” 

This  is  high  praise  indeed,  coming  from  such  a 
source,  especially  when  one  considers  that  Mendels- 
sohn had  been  awarded  the  prize  by  the  Berlin 
Academy,  about  fifteen  years  before  the  above-quoted 


48 


INTRODUCTION 


lines  were  written,  for  his  essay  on  “The  Mathe- 
matical Method  in  Philosophic  Reasoning”,  defeating 
Kant  in  the  contest,  entirely  on  account  of  his  lucid 
and  attractive  style.  It  was  his  endeavor  to  perfect 
himself  in  German,  and  he  applied  himself  to  this 
task  with  a devotion  almost  equal  to  his  love  for  He- 
brew lore.  And  the  result  justified  his  expectations, 
for  his  contributions  to  aesthetics,  philosophy  and  litera- 
ture were  looked  upon  as  classics  in  the  language  by 
his  countrymen,  although  the  critics  of  a later  day 
were  more  grudging  in  their  estimate.  His  “Phaedo 
or  The  Immortality  of  the  Soul”  won  extraordinary 
popularity  in  Berlin,  as  much  for  its  literary  charm 
as  for  its  spiritual  message.  It  is  a work  of  rare 
beauty,  which,  more  than  any  of  his  writings,  estab- 
lished his  fame  as  a profound  and  original  thinker. 

In  this  book  Mendelssohn  translated  the  dialogue 
of  Plato,  of  the  same  name,  enlarging  and  developing 
the  argument  in  the  spirit  of  later  philosophy.  As  an 
introduction  to  the  work,  a picture  of  the  life  and 
character  of  Socrates  was  given,  full  of  the  highest 
love  and  veneration  for  the  master-sage.  The  tone 
of  Mendelssohn’s  “Phaedo”  is  most  exalted  and  soon 
challenged  the  admiration  of  the  world.  Edition  fol- 
lowed edition ; it  was  translated  into  most  European 
languages,  as  also  into  Hebrew  and  Judaeo-German. 
Inasmuch  as  so  many  thinkers  of  his  day  have  clothed 
their  speculations  with  an  obscure  and  technical  style, 
which  renders  them  inaccessible  except  to  minds  of 
exceptional  power  of  penetration,  it  is  worth  while 
to  speak  of  the  admirable  clearness  and  grace  of  Men- 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


49 


delssohn’s  method  of  presentation.  The  work  is  a 
series  of  the  sublimest  thoughts,  fitly  framed,  pervaded 
with  the  broadest  and  noblest  spirit. 

As  he  was  a typical  German  in  his  literary  style, 
so  pronounced  were  his  political  ideas  and  his  rugged 
patriotism.  He  was  not  only  one  of  the  best  prose 
writers  of  the  land,  but  ranged  himself  on  the  side 
of  the  greatest  leaders  in  citizenship.  He  seized  every 
opportunity  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  a Jew  was, 
above  all  things,  a German  and  servant  of  the  State. 
In  his  “Philosophic  Dialogues”,  for  example,  he  re- 
bukes the  Germans  for  ignoring  their  own  spiritual 
heritage  and  permitting  themselves  to  fall  under  the 
yoke  of  French  supremacy  in  the  arts.  “Will  the 
Germans”,  he  exclaims,  “never  realize  their  own  in- 
trinsic worth?  Will  they  forever  exchange  their  pure 
gold  for  the  tinsel  of  their  neighbors?”  In  a review 
of  Zimmermann’s  treatise  on  “National  Pride”  and 
Abbt’s  book  on  “Dying  for  the  Fatherland”,  he  gives 
striking  evidence  of  his  matchless  patriotism  and  his 
devotion  to  his  native  Germany.  One  is  tempted  to 
quote  at  length  from  these  memorable  utterances,  but 
the  following  will  suffice: 

“Why  is  it  that  ancient  history  is  always  more  in- 
teresting than  modern  history,  although  the  latter  is 
so  much  nearer  to  our  own  times?  One  of  the  most 
important  reasons,  no  doubt,  is  this — that,  with  the 
Greeks  and  Romans,  the  whole  nation  was  animated 
by  one  mode  of  thought;  the  love  for  the  Fatherland 
was  at  the  root  of  all  their  world-struggles ; it  was 
the  battle-cry  of  their  bloody  wars  and  the  sinew  of 


so 


INTRODUCTION 


all  their  negotiations.  The  historian  saw  in  this 
dominant  mode  of  thought  a wide  field  for  the  ex- 
pansion of  its  genius,  for  he  described  not  only  deeds 
but  the  ideas  and  convictions  of  entire  nations  as  well. 
In  our  own  times,  however,  the  nations  have  scarcely 
any  mode  of  thought.  The  love  for  the  Fatherland 
has  been  repudiated,  together  with  other  prejudices, 
and  should  this  love  for  the  Fatherland  once  again 
inspire  the  hearts  of  our  fellow  citizens,  the  nation 
must  of  necessity  adopt  a new  mode  of  thought,  re- 
juvenated as  it  will  be  by  a new  spirit.  Its  achieve- 
ments in  the  service  of  the  King  will  then  have  more 
natural  motive  power  than  obedience ; more  love  than 
mere  attachment  to  the  soil.  Once  the  nation  receives 
a new  impetus  from  its  love  for  the  Fatherland,  it 
naturally  follows  that  all  activities  of  the  citizens  be- 
come more  and  more  ennobled,  so  as  to  conform  to 
this  new  mode  of  thought. 

It  will  be  seen  from  this  and  similar  sentiments, 
scattered  throughout  his  works,  that  Mendelssohn  was 
a true  patriot.  Indeed,  in  Germany,  as  elsewhere,  the 
Jew  has  always  proven  himself  to  be  the  most  loyal 
and  representative  citizen.  It  must  have  caused  him 
great  personal  sorrow  to  note  the  misery  of  his  co-re- 
ligionists, who  were  deprived  of  all  civic  rights  and 
privileges.  They  were  exposed  to  the  meanest  insults 
of  the  mob,  whenever  they  ventured  on  the  street.  As 
late  as  the  year  1780,  he  wrote,  in  the  following  bit- 
ter strain  to  a personal  friend,  a Benedictine  brother1. 
“Everywhere,  in  this  so-called  tolerant  land,  I live  so 
isolated  through  real  intolerance,  so  beset  on  every 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


51 


side,  that,  out  of  love  for  my  own  children,  I lock  my- 
self up  in  a silk  factory,  as  in  a cloister.  Of  an  even- 
ing, I take  a walk  with  my  wife  and  children.  ‘Father,’ 
asks  one  of  the  innocents,  ‘what  does  that  fellow  yell 
after  us?  Why  do  they  pelt  us  with  stones?  What 
have  we  done  to  them?’  ‘Yes,  dear  father,’  says 
another,  ‘they  follow  us  constantly  on  the  streets  and 
sneeringly  cry  “Jews!  Jews!”  Do  these  people  then 
think  it  is  a disgrace  to  be  a Jew?  And  what  does  it 

matter  to  them?’ Ah,  I close  my  eyes,  stifle 

a sigh  inwardly  and  exclaim:  ‘Poor  humanity!  You 
have  indeed  brought  things  to  a sorry  pass !’  ” 
Although  taking  no  active  part  in  wordly  affairs, 
sedulously  avoiding  the  task  of  leadership,  which  would 
have  plunged  him  into  bitter  wrangles,  he  did  not  fail 
to  respond  to  any  call  which  demanded  the  weight  of 
his  authority  and  influence,  in  the  defence  of  the  liber- 
ties of  his  own  people.  For  example,  when  fresh  meas- 
ures were  taken,  in  Switzerland,  in  1774,  to  restrict 
Jewish  marriages,  he  successfully  pleaded  on  their  be- 
half. Another  time,  when,  according  to  a new  edict, 
promulgated  in  Saxony  on  September  15,  1772,  a large 
number  of  impoverished  Jewish  families  were  to  be 
expelled,  his  energetic  intercession  with  an  eminent 
statesman,  who  was  his  personal  friend,  happily  warded 
off  the  threatened  calamity.  A Bohemian  Talmudist,  in 
Saxony,  was  imprisoned,  on  the  strength  of  false  testi- 
mony, and  an  open  letter  from  the  pen  of  Mendelssohn 
set  him  free.  The  Jews  of  Poland  laid  their  grievances 
before  him  when,  weighed  down  by  all  manner  of  ac- 
cusations, their  very  existence  was  placed  in  jeopardy. 


52 


INTRODUCTION 


It  was  due  chiefly  to  his  strenuous  efforts  that  the  dig- 
nity of  divine  service  was  maintained  and  that  his  co- 
religionists were  not  molested  by  offensive  interference 
during  the  hours  of  prayer.  A professor  of  Konigsberg, 
who  was  the  government  supervisor  of  the  synagogues 
in  that  city,  had  denounced  a certain  prayer  in  the 
ritual,  in  a report  to  the  Ministry,  on  April  5,  1777. 
On  the  request  of  the  congregational  leaders,  Mendels- 
sohn prepared  a brief,  which  proved  so  effective  that 
Frederick  the  Great  forthwith  abolished  all  govern- 
ment censorship  of  divine  worship,  which  offended  and 
degraded  the  sanctity  of  the  synagogue. 

By  special  imperial  privilege,  Mendelssohn  enjoyed 
the  protection  of  the  court  and  bore  the  title  of 
“Schutz-Jude”  from  the  year  1763  on.  He  had  the 
temerity  to  issue  the  first  plea  for  tolerance  and  for 
the  complete  enfranchisement  of  his  Jewish  brethren. 
His  views  were  voiced  in  a work  which  ranks  as  per- 
haps the  most  valuable  document  of  its  kind  in  litera- 
ture. He  called  it  “Jerusalem”  and  it  contains  the 
most  momentous  utterances  that  have  ever  emanated 
from  a Jewish  pen.  The  great  philosopher  Kant  con- 
gratulated him  on  this  performance,  in  a letter  dated 
August  16,  1773,  in  the  following  words: 

“With  what  admiration  I have  read  your  ‘Jeru- 
salem’! I regard  this  book  as  the  announcement  of  a 
great,  though  slow-coming  reform,  which  will  affect 
not  only  your  nation,  but  also  others.  You  have 
managed  to  unite  with  your  religion  such  a spirit  of 
freedom  and  tolerance  as  it  has  not  had  credit  for 
and  such  as  no  other  faith  can  boast.  You  have  so 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


53 


powerfully  presented  the  necessity  of  an  unlimited 
liberty  of  conscience,  for  every  faith,  that,  at  length, 
on  our  side  too,  the  church  must  do  some  serious 
thinking.  The  Christians  must  study  whether  in  their 
creeds  there  are  not  things  which  burden  and  oppress 
the  spirit  and  look  toward  a union  which,  as  regards 
essential  religious  points,  shall  bring  all  of  us  to- 
gether.” 

As  many  of  his  major  works,  this  memorable  human 
document  was  also  translated  in  English.  We  possess 
several  versions  of  it,  notably  one  from  the  pen  of 
Rabbi  Isaac  Lesser,  of  Philadelphia.  It  has  not  lost 
its  potency  even  to  this  day,  and  it  would  be  well  if  it 
were  more  extensively  circulated  among  our  Jewish 
as  well  as  Christian  brethren.  We  content  ourselves 
in  quoting  one  single  paragraph,  which  conveys  the 
general  drift  of  his  argument: 

“Why  should  you  condemn  us  for  doing  that  which 
the  founder  of  your  religion  himself  has  done  and 
confirmed  by  his  authority?  Will  you  withhold  from 
us  civic  fellowship  and  brotherly  love,  because  we 
differ  from  you  in  our  ceremonial  laws,  but  do  not 
eat  with  you,  do  not  marry  with  you, — when,  so  far 
as  we  can  perceive,  the  founder  of  your  religion  had 
done  the  self-same  thing  and  would,  indeed,  not  have 
permitted  us  to  act  otherwise?  If  this  is  and  should 
remain  your  true  conviction,  and  civic  equality  may 
not  be  acquired  under  any  other  condition  than  that 
we  violate  our  statutes,  which  we  still  consider  bind- 
ing, then  it  pains  us  to  be  obliged  to  declare : that  we 
must  dispense  with  civic  equality.  Then  Dohm,  the 


54 


INTRODUCTION 


great  friend  of  mankind,  has  labored  in  vain,  and 
everything  must  continue  in  the  same  pitiful  state 

that  it  is  to-day It  is  not  up  to  us  to 

yield,  but  it  is  incumbent  upon  us,  if  we  are  honest 
and  upright,  to  show  you  brotherly  love,  notwithstand- 
ing, and  to  appeal  to  you,  in  brotherly  love,  to  miti- 
gate our  lot  and  to  make  our  burdens  as  bearable  as 
possible.  If  you  will  not  look  upon  us  as  brothers 
and  fellow-citizens,  consider  us,  at  least,  as  fellow-men 
and  denizens  of  a common  country.  Show  us  ways 
and  means  how  to  become  better  burghers  and  suffer 
us,  so  far  as  time  and  circumstances  permit,  to  enjoy 
the  primitive  rights  of  mankind.  We  cannot,  in  con- 
science, deviate  from  our  laws,  and  of  what  use  are 
fellow-citizens  without  a conscience?” 

Another  opportunity  to  serve  his  co-religionists 
arose  when  a noted  representative  of  the  Jews  in  Al- 
sace turned  to  him  with  the  request  to  prepare  a 
memoir,  wherein  the  intolerable  condition  of  the  Jews 
in  that  province  should  be  set  forth.  Instead  of  draft- 
ing such  a document,  he  persuaded  an  eminent  states- 
man and  jurist  to  undertake  the  task.  In  the  person 
of  Christian  Wilhelm  von  Dohm  (born  December  II, 
1741  ; died  May  29,  1829),  the  Jews  found  a powerful 
spokesman  and  champion.  With  the  help  of  Mendels- 
sohn, he  composed  a book  on  the  “Civic  Amelior- 
tion  of  the  Jews”,  which  is  not  only  the  first  work 
of  this  character,  but  remains  the  most  valuable  and 
important  contribution  to  the  history  of  Jewish  eman- 
cipation. The  author  did  yeoman  sendee  for  the 
Jews  of  Germany,  in  vindicating  their  rights  and 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


55 


privileges  and  redeeming  them  from  slavery  and  dis- 
honor. His  appeal  had,  in  a sense,  the  same  effect 
on  the  nation’s  sense  of  justice  that  Lessing’s  “Nathan” 
had  upon  the  literary  world,  with  its  magnificent  plea 
for  universal  tolerance.  Not  since  the  days  of  the 
great  Reformation,  when  John  Reuchlin  raised  his 
powerful  voice  on  behalf  of  the  Jewish  race,  whose 
language  and  literature  he  studied  and  admired  so 
sincerely,  had  such  a cry  for  justice  been  heard  in 
German  lands. 

“The  anti-Jewish  policy  of  the  present  day”,  he 
pleaded,  “is  a reminder  of  the  barbarism  of  bygone 
centuries,  a result  of  fanatical  religious  hatred,  un- 
worthy of  the  enlightenment  of  modern  times,  which 

civilization  should  have  long  since  rooted  out 

Every  citizen  who  observes  the  law  and  contributes, 
by  his  industry,  to  the  welfare  of  the  commonwealth, 

should  be  welcomed  by  the  State The  Jew 

also  has  a righteous  claim  to  the  full  enjoyment  of 
civic  privileges  and  a common  fellowship.  His  re- 
ligion does  not  render  him  unworthy  of  it,  inasmuch 
as  he  can  be  a very  good  citizen,  even  if  he  strictly 

follows  the  mandates  of  his  traditions I 

even  venture  to  congratulate  the  State  which  carries 
out  these  principles ; it  will  create,  by  its  own  re- 
sources, new,  loyal  and  grateful  subjects;  it  will  make 
good  citizens  of  its  native  Jews.” 

Dohm’s  work  caused  the  greatest  sensation  through- 
out Germany.  His  stirring  appeal  reached  the  thrifty 
Jewish  colony  in  Surinam,  Dutch  Guiana,  and  we  owe 
a history  of  that  interesting  community  entirely  to 


56 


INTRODUCTION 


his  inspiration.  That  a man  of  his  high  social  and 
official  standing,  a noted  statesman,  privy-councilor 
of  war,  should  have  dared  to  demand  emancipation 
for  the  friendless  outcasts  of  the  Ghetto,  in  such 
strenuous  and  ruthless  fashion,  was  an  unprecedented 
move.  As  might  have  been  expected,  coals  of  fire 
were  heaped  upon  his  head  by  the  publication  of  a 
whole  series  of  rejoinders,  full  of  malice  and  vitupera- 
tion, which  strove  to  nullify  his  arguments  by  re- 
course to  mediaevil  slanders  and  prejudices.  The  con- 
troversy raged  with  such  violence  that  Mendelssohn 
was  again  constrained  to  enter  the  lists  with  his  pen. 
He  added  “Notes”  to  the  second  volume  of  Dohm’s 
work,  which  definitely  disposed  of  all  criticisms  and 
objections,  and  wrote  an  exhaustive  Preface,  in  his 
matchless  style,  to  the  translation  of  Menasseh  ben 
Israel’s  “Vindication  of  the  Jews”,  first  issued  in 
1656,  which  Dr.  Marcus  Herz  rendered  into  grace- 
ful German. 

This  “Preface”  was  energetically  assailed  in  peri- 
odicals and  pamphlets ; and  it  is  in  final  rebuttal 
that  he  composed  his  celebrated  work  “Jerusalem,  or 
Concerning  Religious  Power  and  Judaism”,  in  1783. 
Although  his  opponents  decried  its  author  as  a ration- 
alist and  even  an  atheist,  and  the  Jews  were  little 
more  pleased — since,  on  the  one  hand,  he  recognized 
the  basic  principle  of  Judaism  to  be  freedom  of 
thought  and  belief,  and,  on  the  other,  placed  its  whole 
essence  in  the  ceremonial  law — both  the  Orthodox 
party  and  the  Reformers  claimed  him  as  their  own. 
What  Kant  regarded  as  an  “irrefutable  book”,  because 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


57 


it  expressed  great  truths  which  no  one  had  yet  dared 
to  voice  so  unequivocally,  a large  majority  denounced 
as  mere  sophistry.  It  is  noteworthy,  however,  that 
he  was  the  first  German  Jew  to  preach  the  gospel  of 
brotherhood,  as  the  following  passage  from  his  “Jeru- 
salem” indicates : 

“Thank  the  God  of  your  fathers ; thank  God,  who  is 
love  and  compassion  itself,  that  the  delusion  is  gradu- 
ally losing  ground  that  religion  can  maintain  itself 
only  by  iron  might,  propagate  its  doctrine  of  salvation 
only  through  unholy  persecution  and  spread  the  con- 
ception of  God,  which  all  confessions  maintain  is  love, 
only  by  means  of  hatred.  Nations  tolerate  and  bear 
with  one  another  and  will  look  leniently  even  upon 
you,  who  may  yet,  under  a gracious  Providence,  which 
links  the  hearts  of  men,  reap  the  comforts  of  brotherly 
love.  0,  my  brothers,  follow  the  example  of  love, 
as  ye  have  hitherto  followed  the  example  of  hatred. 
Imitate  the  virtues  of  those  nations  whose  vices  you 
have  thought  it  needful  to  copy.  If  ye  will  be  cher- 
ished, tolerated  and  spared  by  others,  cherish,  tolerate 
and  spare  each  other!  Love  ye,  so  will  ye  too  be 
loz'ed !” 

As  the  jargon  his  co-religionists  spoke  was  the 
dividing  wall  between  Jews  and  Christians,  so  the 
language  of  their  common  country  proved  to  be  the 
effective  instrument  wherewith  to  raze  it.  The  Seven 
Years’  War  awakened  the  dormant  patriotism  of  the 
Prussians,  so  that  the  celebration  of  victories  became 
no  irksome  joy.  Mendelssohn  joined  his  fellow- 
citizens  in  these  festivities  by  composing  patriotic 


58 


INTRODUCTION 


verse  and  a series  of  sermons  in  honor  of  the  glorious 
feat  of  arms  at  Rossbach,  Leuten  and  Hubertsburg. 
These  were  preached  in  the  synagogue  in  Berlin,  by 
his  old  teacher,  Rabbi  Frankel,  and  at  least  two  of 
them  have  been  translated  into  English,  one  appearing, 
as  the  earliest  print  of  a distinctive  Jewish  character, 
in  far-off  Philadelphia. 

Thus  he  contributed  to  the  recognition  of  his  own 
people  as  integral  elements  of  German  citizenship. 

On  one  occasion  (1760),  no  doubt  encouraged  by 
Lessing,  he  went  so  far  as  to  declaim  against  the  great 
emperor’s  lack  of  national  spirit,  in  a review  of  the 
latter’s  poetical  works.  That  a Jew  should  have  had 
the  temerity  to  call  his  reigning  sovereign  to  task  for 
composing  indifferent  verse  and  for  preferring  the 
French  language  to  his  native  tongue,  was  a deed  as 
daring  as  unprecedented.  He  had  already  excited  the 
curiosity  of  the  court,  five  years  before,  when  his 
first  German  book  was  published.  According  to  Less- 
ing (see  his  letter  to  Mendelssohn,  of  December,  1755), 
all  wanted  to  know  “this  Jew”  who  thought  so  pro- 
foundly and  expressed  himself  so  eloquently.  And  so 
he  had  come  to  be  looked  upon  as  the  embodiment 
of  wisdom.  It,  therefore,  redounds  to  his  credit  that 
he  presumed  to  say  this  of  his  royal  master’s  work: 
“Nearly  every  stanza  shows  a trait  of  this  Prince’s 
character,  and  the  whole  is  a portrait  in  which  his  noble 
soul,  his  even  nobler  heart,  yea,  his  very  weakness 
is  faithfully  limned.  What  a loss  to  our  mother 
tongue  that  this  Prince  makes  a more  fluent  use  of 
French ! The  august  author  should  have  deemed  it 
beneath  his  dignity  to  say,  in  his  Preface : 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


59 


‘My  German  Muse,  a wonderful  gibberish, 

A barbaric  French 
Descants  upon  things  as  it  can.’ 

Can  a writer  to  whom  the  present  state  of  philosophy 
is  not  unknown  and  who  shows  himself  everywhere  to 
be  a masterful  and  truth-loving  intellect,  undertake 
to  dispute  the  doctrine  of  the  Immortality  of  the 
Soul?” 

Summoned  to  Sans  Souci  for  lese  majeste,  on  a 
Sabbath,  he  received  absolution  from  the  Rabbi  to 
ride  and  appeared  before  Frederick  the  Great.  Chal- 
lenged to  defend  his  daring  criticism,  Mendelssohn 
neatly  turned  the  tables  on  his  illustrious  patron,  by 
the  following  brilliant  witticism:  “Whoever  makes 
verse,  plays  at  nine-pins ; and  whoever  plays  at  nine- 
pins, be  he  king  or  peasant,  must  have  the  setter-up 
tell  him  how  he  bowls.”  The  King  was  so  taken  aback 
by  this  bold  but  clever  retort  that,  irascible  though  he 
generally  was,  he  dismissed  his  critic  without  a rep- 
rimand. Possibly  he  feared  to  brave  the  sneers  of 
the  French  cynics,  by  whom  he  was  constantly  sur- 
rounded. 

This  review  of  Mendelssohn’s  appeared  in  a leading 
periodical,  entitled  Letters  Concerning  the  Latest 
Literature,  edited  by  Nicolai  and  himself.  It  attracted 
much  attention,  and  it  was  through  the  malice  of  the 
author  of  a book  which  he  had  unfavorably  criticized, 
that  he  was  arraigned  before  the  King  and  his  Journal 
condemned. 

It  was  Nicolai,  it  will  be  remembered,  whom  he 
had  met  in  Lessing’s  company,  in  1755.  With  his 


60 


INTRODUCTION 


help  he  acquired  a proficiency  in  Greek  and  modern 
languages.  Together,  they  studied  the  classics,  and, 
in  an  incredibly  short  time,  he  had  mastered  his  sub- 
ject so  thoroughly  as  to  be  able  to  read  all  the  works 
of  Plato  in  the  original.  When  the  “Coffee-House 
of  the  Learned”  was  established,  which  is  described 
by  some  one  as  “an  oasis  in  the  literary  wilderness 
of  Berlin”,  the  three  friends,  Lessing,  Nicolai  and 
Mendelssohn  became  its  regular  patrons.  It  comprised 
a select  circle  of  about  one  hundred  men  of  science, 
who  cheerfully  admitted  the  young  Jewish  philosopher 
to  membership,  vouched  for  as  he  was  by  such  literary 
stars.  At  their  meetings,  each  fourth  week,  a paper 
on  some  philosophic  or  mathematical  topic  was  read  by 
one  of  their  number.  Mendelssohn,  timid  by  nature 
and  conscious  of  his  unfortunate  defect  of  speech, 
presented  a written  thesis  “On  Probability”,  which, 
at  his  request,  was  read  for  him  by  a friend.  While 
in  the  course  of  recitation,  its  authorship  was  promptly 
recognized,  and  he  was  enthusiastically  greeted  by  the 
learned  company.  The  substance  of  this  paper  was 
repeated  in  his  celebrated  Morgenstunden. 

At  about  this  time  he  wrote  his  Letters  on  the  Emo- 
tions, which  contain  a philosophy  of  the  beautiful  and 
which  form  the  basis  of  all  philosophical  and  aesthetic 
criticism  in  Germany.  On  the  advice  of  Lessing,  he 
translated  Rousseau’s  prize  essay,  Discours  sur 
I’inegalite  parmi  les  Hommes,  which  he  published  with 
explanatory  notes  and  a dedicatory  letter  to  “Magis- 
ter”  Lessing,  in  1756. 

In  the  same  year  he  became  one  of  the  staff  editors 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


61 


of  the  Library  of  Science  and  Fine  Arts,  which  had 
been  founded  by  Nicolai.  Indeed,  he  proved  to  be 
the  very  soul  of  the  undertaking.  He  contributed  a 
mass  of  literary  material,  mainly  book  reviews.  His 
own  studies  on  aesthetics  appeared  in  this  magazine. 
Mendelssohn,  Lessing  and  Nicolai  entered  into  a cor- 
respondence on  this  subject,  in  which  they  discussed 
the  function  of  tragedy  and  its  emotional  manifesta- 
tions. Upon  these  series  of  epistles,  which  directly 
influenced  Lessing’s  “Laokoon”,  were  based  two  mon- 
ographs by  Mendelssohn.  One  was  entiled  The  Funda- 
mental Principles  of  Science  and  Fine  Arts , and  the 
other  Concerning  Lofty  and  Naive  Elements  in  the 
Fine  Arts.  These  publications,  which  were  printed  in 
The  Library,  must  be  ranked  among  the  most  important 
contributions  to  pre-Kentian  aesthetics. 

Before  a year  had  elapsed,  Mendelssohn  retired  from 
the  associate  editorship  of  this  periodical,  only  to  join 
a new  venture  in  the  same  field,  again  launched  by 
Nicolai  (about  1759).  This  was  called  Letters  Con- 
cerning the  Latest  Literature.  It  was  revolutionary 
in  tendency  and  soon  became  the  repository  of  the 
best  thought  in  Germany.  “The  criticism  which  Men- 
delssohn (upon  whom  a large  part  of  the  editorial 
work  devolved),  together  with  Lessing,  introduced, 
was  creative  and  essentially  German  in  character.  Men- 
delssohn’s judgment  was  always  impartial,  sane  and 
clear-sighted.” 

His  relations  with  poets  and  philosophers  in  Ger- 
many and  Switzerland  became  more  and  more  close 
as  his  fame  increased.  He  was  greatly  admired  for 


62 


INTRODUCTION 


his  literary  work  in  the  Letters,  which  be  continued  to 
edit,  in  conjunction  with  his  friend,  Nicolai,  until  1765, 
and  especially  for  his  prize  essay  on  Metaphysical  Sci- 
ence, which  had  secured  him  an  award  of  fifty  ducats, 
in  June,  1763,  and  an  enviable  victory  over  Thomas 
Abbt  and  Immanuel  Kant,  with  whose  rejected  theses, 
his  own  was  finally  published.  As  he  had  won  the 
esteem  of  one  of  the  contestants,  who  later  expressed 
himself  in  such  glowing  terms  concerning  his  vivid 
literary  style,  so  he  became  also  the  intimate  friend 
of  the  other.  At  Abbt’s  request,  Mendelssohn  began 
a correspondence,  in  which  he  set  forth  the  destiny  of 
man  and  the  life  of  the  soul  after  death.  This  was 
published  with  notes  and  occupies  nearly  200  pages 
in  his  Collected  Works  (Leipsic  1843-1845).  It  forms 
the  basis  of  his  chief  philosophical  work,  the  Phaedo 
(1767),  the  most  widely  read  book  of  his  time  and 
considered  one  of  the  best  productions  of  classical 
German  prose.  It  was  reprinted  fifteen  times  and 
translated  into  nearly  all  the  European  languages,  as 
also  into  Hebrew.  The  Crown  Prince  of  Brunswick 
was  so  impressed  with  it  that,  while  on  a visit  to  his 
uncle,  Frederick  the  Great,  in  Berlin,  in  the  autumn  of 
1769,  he  tried  to  induce  him  to  come  to  Brunswick. 
Other  members  of  Royalty  showed  him  marked  pref- 
erence. It  is  a singular  fact  to  record  that  because 
the  Empress  Catherine  of  Russia  wished  to  be  elected 
a regular  member  of  the  philosophical  division  of  the 
Berlin  Academy  of  Sciences,  to  which  honor  Men- 
delssohn had  been  proposed  as  a candidate,  the  King 
of  Prussia  wantonly  struck  his  name  off  the  list. 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


63 


Among  those  who  corresponded  with  Mendelssohn 
was  Johann  Kaspar  Lavater,  a preacher  in  Zurich, 
whose  work  on  physiognomy  has  become  standard. 
He  had  visited  “the  Jew  Moses”  in  his  modest  lodging 
several  times  in  1763  and  had  afterwards  given  a very 
graphic  description  of  “this  man  with  the  Socratic 
soul”.  Lessing  introduced  them  to  one  another,  and 
the  Christian  theologian,  a man  of  varied  gifts,  was 
captivated  by  the  charm  of  Mendelssohn’s  personality. 
Writing  to  a clerical  friend,  he  says:  “The  Jew,  Men- 
delssohn, author  of  the  philosophical  Letters  on  the 
Emotions,  we  found  in  his  office,  busy  with  silk  goods. 
A companionable,  brilliant  soul,  with  pleasing  ideas ; 
the  body  of  an  Aesop;  a man  of  keen  insight,  exqui- 
site taste  and  wide  erudition.  He  is  a great  venerator 
of  all  thinking  minds  and  himself  a metaphysician;  an 
impartial  judge  of  all  works  of  talent  and  taste;  frank 
and  open-hearted  in  intercourse,  more  modest  in  his 
speech  than  in  his  writings,  unaffected  by  praise,  free 
from  the  tricks  of  meaner  spirits,  who  aim  only  at 
pushing  themselves  into  notoriety ; generous,  ready  to 
serve  his  friends;  a brother  to  his  brethren,  the  Jews, 
affable  and  respectful  to  them  and  by  them  honored 
and  beloved.” 

After  their  acquaintance  had  ripened  into  friendship, 
Lavater  conceived  the  wild  ambition  of  converting 
him  to  Christianity.  Being  repulsed  by  solid  argu- 
ments, as  well  as  genial  irony,  he  soon  abandoned  the 
plan,  only  to  return  to  it  some  years  later,  in  1769, 
when  he  dedicated  to  him  his  German  translation  of 
the  work  of  a Geneva  professor,  Charles  Bonnet,  which 


64 


INTRODUCTION 


he  entitled  An  Enquiry  into  the  Proofs  of  the  Truth 
of  Christianity  against  Unbelievers.  In  a prefatory- 
challenge,  he  solemnly  adjures  Mendelssohn  to  refute 
these  arguments  in  public  if  he  could  and,  if  not,  to 
“do  what  wisdom  and  love  of  truth  and  understanding 
must  bid  him;  what  a Socrates  would  have  done,  if 
he  had  read  the  book  and  found  it  unanswerable.” 
Mendelssohn  had  no  choice  but  to  take  up  the  gaunt- 
let, and  here  again  it  was  Lessing  (as  we  know  from 
his  letter  of  1771,  addressed  to  his  friend),  who  urged 
him  on.  His  reply  to  Lavater  is  a classic  in  the  domain 
of  apologetic  literature.  It  concludes  in  these  mem- 
orable words : “Of  all  that  is  of  the  essence  of  my 

faith,  I am  so  firmly  and  immovably  convinced  that 
I testify  herewith,  before  the  God  of  Truth  and  my 
Creator  and  Preserver,  by  whom  you  have  adjured 
me,  in  your  appeal,  that  I shall  cleave  to  my  principles 
so  long  as  my  soul  does  not  change  its  nature.” 

It  is  but  fair  to  him  who  had  so  rashly  provoked 
this  controversy  to  state  that,  finding  the  consensus 
of  friendly  opinion  against  him,  and  sincerely  con- 
vinced of  his  own  error,  Lavater  regretted  that  he 
had  “involuntarily  distressed  the  most  noble  of  men” 
and  begged  his  forgiveness.  A pamphlet  warfare  fol- 
lowed the  appearance  of  Mendelssohn’s  views  on  the 
doctrines  of  Christianity,  as  expressed  in  his  letters 
to  Lavater,  his  rejoinder  to  Bonnet’s  counterblast,  and 
his  epistles  to  the  Crown  Prince  of  Brunswick.  To 
all  the  spite  and  calumny  called  forth  by  them,  he 
deigned  to  offer  no  reply.  “Whoever  is  so  obviously 
anxious  to  irritate  me,”  he  wrote  to  a friend,  “ought 


LESSING,  MENDELSSOHN  AND  LAVATER  AT  CHESS 
( From  an  old  woodcut) 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


65 


to  have  much  difficulty  in  succeeding.”  Among  his 
few  defenders  in  this  fight,  may  be  mentioned  with 
honor  Professor  Michaelis  and  the  celebrated  satirist, 
Lichtenberg,  both  of  Gottingen.  The  Crown  Prince 
of  Brunswick,  one  of  his  ardent  admirers,  in  a letter 
to  him,  dated  January  2,  1770,  expresses  his  astonish- 
ment that  he  should  have  been  “able  to  dispose  of  so 
delicate  a situation  with  such  tact  and  exalted  brotherly 
love.” 

Mentally  exhausted  by  these  disputations,  he  went, 
in  July  of  1773  and  1774,  to  Pyrmont  for  his  health, 
where  he  became  acquainted  with  Herder,  who,  noting 
his  popularity,  remarked  that  “Mordecai  had  as  large 
a following  as  the  grand  vizier.” 

Mendelssohn’s  warfare  with  Lavater  and  his  ad- 
vocates made  a deep  impression  upon  Lessing.  He  was 
greatly  incensed  at  the  cocksureness  of  these  expon- 


ents of  orthodox  Christianity.  An  opportunity  soon 


presented  itself  to  him  to  enter  the  theological  arena. 
His  friend,  the  earnest  scholar,  Herrmann  Samuel 
Reimarus  (1694-1768),  exasperated  by  the  intrigues  of 
the  Lutheran  pastors  in  Hamburg,  who  aggressively 
proclaimed  their  fossilized  creed,  had  written  A De- 
fense of  the  Rational  Worshipers  of  God,  which  re- 
jected all  revealed  religion  and  especially  attacked  the 
founder  of  Christianity.  He  lacked  the  courage  to  pub- 
lish it  and  left  it  as  an  heirloom  to  his  high-minded 
and  talented  daughter,  Elisa  Reimarus.  She  submitted 
it  to  Lessing,  who  read  it  with  eager  interest,  but,  not 
wishing  to  trust  his  own  judgment  in  matters  of  the- 
ology, he  consulted  Mendelssohn  before  giving  it  to 


V 


66 


INTRODUCTION 


the  world.  Although  the  latter  tried  to  dissuade  his 
friend  from  printing  it,  as  he  found  in  the  work 
nothing  constructive  and  believed  that  it  would  only 
provoke  violent  antagonism,  Lessing  was  of  the  opinion 
that  it  would  prove  effective  in  rebuking  the  pride  of 
the  Church.  Baffled  by  the  Berlin  censors,  who  did 
not  approve  a work  that  was  so  obviously  a firebrand, 
he  hit  upon  another  plan.  In  assuming  charge  of 
the  Ducal  Library  in  Wolfenbiittel,  he  had  acquired 
the  privilege  of  editing  the  manuscript  treasures  of  that 
noted  collection.  He  pretended  to  have  discovered 
the  “Fragments  of  an  Unknown”  and  began  to  publish 
the  original  Reimarus  manuscript  as  an  anonymous 
treatise,  in  serial  form,  extending  over  a period  of  eight 
years  (1773-1781).  One  instalment  of  these  Wolfen- 
biittel  Fragments  was  a vigorous  and  revolutionary  ex- 
pose of  Christianity,  designed  to  prove  that  Jesus  and 
his  disciples  had  conceived  a conspiracy  against  the 
Sanhedrin  and,  when  finally  detected,  were  forced  to 
declare  that  the  kingdom  they  had  striven  to  establish 
was  not  a temporal  but  a heavenly  one. 

This  novel  and  audacious  treatment  of  the  early  be- 
ginnings of  the  faith  created  a sensation.  The  clergy 
and  laity  alike  were  staggered  by  it.  Indeed,  the  ef- 
fect was  so  momentous  that  many  students  of  the- 
ology promptly  abandoned  their  seminary  courses, 
rather  than  follow  a vocation  predicated  on  error. 
Speculation  as  to  the  identity  of  the  mysterious  scribe 
was  rife.  Even  Mendelssohn  was  openly  charged  with 
its  authorship.  Only  a few  were  aware  that  the  writer 
was  the  estimable  Reimarus.  It  goes  without  saying 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


67 


that  public  wrath  vented  itself  upon  Lessing,  who  had 
no  partisans,  save  his  Jewish  friend,  and  he  would 
not  venture  to  step  into  the  breach  in  a quarrel  which 
he  regarded  as  a domestic  affair. 

Lessing,  writing  to  his  brother,  under  date  of  Feb- 
ruary 25th,  and  to  the  author’s  daughter,  on  June 
22nd,  1780,  mentions  the  fact  that  one  of  the  malicious 
lies  circulated  by  his  enemies  was  that  the  rich  Jew- 
ish congregation  in  Amsterdam  had  presented  him  with 
one  thousand  ducats  for  his  performance.  Long  since 
accustomed  to  fight  his  own  battles,  it  did  not  take 
him  long  to  completely  vanquish  his  enemies,  notably 
the  vindicative  orthodox  pastor,  Goze,  to  whom  he 
directed  his  celebrated  polemical  letters  entitled  Anti- 
Goze. 

As  his  opponents  could  not  meet  the  arguments 
against  Christianity  advanced  by  the  anonymous  free- 
lance, they  resorted  to  the  power  of  the  secular  arm. 
As  a consequence,  in  1778,  Lessing  was  interdicted 
from  publishing  further  instalments ; his  previous 
pamphlets  were  confiscated ; he  was  obliged  to  sur- 
render the  original  manuscripts ; the  liberty  of  the 
press  was  withheld  from  him;  and  the  injunction  laid 
upon  him  not  to  write  anything  more  on  the  subject. 
He  protested  vigorously  against  these  high-handed 
measures,  but,  as  his  livelihood  was  at  stake,  he  was 
forced  to  submit.  But  even  then  he  was  planning  a 
noble  revenge.  In  one  of  his  sleepless  nights,  he  tells 
us,  in  a letter  written  on  August  10,  1778,  he  recalled 
a rough  draft  he  had  made,  many  years  before,  of  a 
dramatic  poem,  based  upon  an  episode  in  Boccaccio, 


68 


INTRODUCTION 


which,  he  calculated,  would  bring  more  confusion  in- 
to the  ranks  of  the  Lutheran  zealots  than  another 
series  of  “Fragments”  from  Wolfenbiittel. 

The  creation  of  Nathan  the  Wise  was,  therefore, 
the  result  of  a natural  reaction.  It  fully  accomplished 
its  purpose.  It  confounded  the  insular  Christian 
pietists  who  arrogated  to  themselves  all  the  virtues 
of  their  faith  and  looked  upon  the  Jews  with  revulsion 
and  disdain. 

“When  Lessing  selected  a Jew  to  be  the  hero  of  his 
grandest  play,  the  innovation  was  so  unheard  of  as 
to  make  his  courage  more  striking  perhaps  than  any 
act  he  ever  performed — and  he  was  the  most  in- 
trepid of  men.  ‘Nathan  the  Wise’  was  written  late 
in  life,  when  Lessing’s  philosophy  had  ripened,  and 
when  his  spirit,  sorely  tried  in  every  way,  had  gained 
from  sad  experience  only  sweeter  humanity.  Judged 
by  rules  of  art,  it  is  easy  to  find  fault  with  it,  but 
one  is  impatient  at  any  attempt  to  measure  it  by 
such  a trivial  standard.  It  is  thrilled  from  first  to 
last  by  a glowing  God-sent  fire — such  as  has  appeared 
rarely  in  the  literature  of  the  world.  It  teaches  love 
to  God  and  man,  tolerance,  the  beauty  of  peace. 

“In  Nathan,  a Tew  who  has  suffered  at  the  hands 
of  the  Crusaders  the  extremest  affliction — the  loss  of 
his  wife  and  seven  children — is  not  embittered  by  the 
experience.  He,  with  two  other  leading  figures,  Sala- 
din  and  the  Templar,  are  bound  together  in  a close 
intimacy.  They  are  all  examples  of  nobleness,  though 
individualized.  In  Nathan,  severe  chastening  has 
brought  to  pass  the  finest  gentleness  and  love.  Saladin 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


69 


is  the  perfect  type  of  chivalry,  though  impetuous  and 
over-lavish,  through  the  possession  of  great  power. 
The  Templar  is  full  of  the  vehemence  of  youth.  So 
they  stand,  side  by  side,  patterns  of  admirable  man- 
hood, yet  representatives  of  creeds  most  deeply  hos- 
tile. Thus,  in  concrete  presentment,  Lessing  teaches 
impressively,  what  he  had  often  elsewhere  inculcated 
in  a less  varied  way,  one  of  the  grandest  lessons,  that 
nobleness  is  bound  to  no  confession  of  faith. 

“It  was  his  thought — and  here  many  will  think  he 
went  too  far — that  every  historic  religion  is  in  some 
sense  divine,  a necessary  evolution,  from  the  condi- 
tions under  which  it  originates.  What  a man  believes 
is  a matter  of  utter  indifference  if  his  life  is  not  good. 

“Goldwin  Smith,  in  a paper  in  the  Nineteenth  Cen- 
tury, in  which  some  injustice  is  done  to  the  Jewish 
character  and  the  facts  of  Jewish  history,  declares 
that  Nathan  the  Wise  is  an  impossible  personage,  the 
pure  creation  of  the  brain  of  the  dramatist.  Lessing, 
however,  as  is  well  known,  found  the  suggestion  for 
his  superb  figure  in  Moses  Mendelssohn,  and 

. there  are  abundant  data  for  concluding 
that  Lessing’s  Jew  was  no  mere  fancy  sketch.  It  may 
be  said,  in  truth,  that  the  character  is  exceptional,  and 
that  Jews,  as  the  world  knows  them,  are  something 
quite  different.  But  among  the  votaries  of  what 
creed,  pray,  would  not  such  a character  be  excep- 
tional ! If  exceptional,  it  is  not  unparalleled. 
Judaism  is  capable  of  giving  birth  to  humane 
and  tolerant  spirits,  even  in  our  time,  and  such  spirits 
are  not  at  all  unknown  in  its  past  annals.”  (James 


70 


INTRODUCTION 


K.  Hosmer,  The  Story  of  the  Jews,  N.  Y.,  1886,  pp. 
251-25  3-) 

It  is  gratifying  to  record  the  fact  that  it  was  a Jew 
who  made  the  writing  of  this  immortal  epic  possible. 
Lessing  needed  money.  He  had  no  friends  rich  enough 
to  help  him;  nor  would  he  accept  a kindness  from 
everyone.  When  his  financial  embarrassment  became 
irksome,  he  received  a loan  from  Moses  Wessely  of 
Hamburg,  a brother  of  the  celebrated  Hebrew  poet, 
Naphtali  Hartwig  Wessely,  who,  though  by  no  means 
wealthy  himself,  cheerfully  advanced  as  much  as  Less- 
ing required,  asking  in  return  only  the  privilege  of 
possessing  a letter  autographed  by  him. 

As  he  had  predicted,  Nathan  the  Wise  precipitated 
a veritable  storm.  The  ire  of  all  pious  Christians 
was  concentrated  on  it.  Even  the  “Fragments”  and 
his  trenchant  onslaughts  upon  Goze  were  forgotten 
in  this  new  arraignment  of  the  orthodox  creed.  They 
could  overlook  the  ruthless  character  of  the  Patriarch, 
but  not  the  glorification  of  Judaism,  as  portrayed  in 
his  exemplary  Jew,  at  the  expense  of  their  own  faith. 
Lessing’s  most  trusted  friends  began  to  shun  him, 
and  this  distressed  him  so  keenly  that,  almost  isolated 
as  he  was,  he  soon  lost  his  jovial  manner  and  elasti- 
city and  became  morose  and  taciturn.  The  last  year 
of  his  life  was  embittered  by  this  treatment. 

“He  died  in  vigorous  manhood  like  an  aged  man,  a 
martyr  to  his  love  of  truth.  But  his  soul-conquering 
voice  made  itself  heard  on  behalf  of  tolerance  and 
gradually  softened  the  discordant  notes  of  hatred  and 
prejudice.  In  spite  of  the  ban  placed  upon  ‘Nathan’,  as 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


71 


well  as  upon  its  author,  both  in  Protestant  and  Catholic 
countries,  this  drama  became  one  of  the  most  popular 
in  German  poetry,  and  as  often  as  the  verses  inspired 
by  conviction  resound  from  the  stage,  they  seize  upon 
the  hearts  of  the  audience,  loosening  the  links  of  the 
chain  of  Jew-hatred  in  the  minds  of  Germans,  who 
find  it  most  difficult  to  throw  off  its  shackles.  ‘Nathan’ 
made  an  impression  on  the  mind  of  the  German  people, 
which,  despite  unfavorable  circumstances,  has  not  been 
obliterated.  Twenty  years  before,  when  Lessing  pro- 
duced his  first  drama  of  ‘The  Jews’,  an  arrogant  the- 
ologian censured  it,  because  it  was  altogether  too  im- 
probable that  among  a people  like  the  Jews,  so  noble 
a character  could  ever  be  formed.  At  the  appearance 
of  ‘Nathan’,  no  reader  thought  that  a noble  Jew  was 
possible.  Even  the  most  stubborn  dared  not  assert 
so  monstrous  an  absurdity.  The  Jewish  ideal  sage 
was  a reality  and  lived  in  Berlin,  an  ornament  not 
alone  to  the  Jews,  but  to  the  German  nation.  With- 
out Mendelssohn,  the  drama  of  ‘ Nathan ’ zvould  not 
have  been  written,  just  as  without  Lessing’s  friend- 
ship Mendelssohn  zvould  not  have  become  what  he  did 
to  German  literature  and  the  Jewish  world.  The  cor- 
diality of  the  intimacy  between  these  two  friends 
showed  itself  after  Lessing’s  death.  His  brothers 
and  friends,  who  only  after  his  demise  realized  his 
greatness,  turned,  in  the  anguish  of  their  loss,  to  Men- 
delssohn, as  if  it  were  natural  that  he  should  be  the 
chief  mourner.  And  in  very  sooth  he  was;  none  of 
his  associates  preserved  Lessing’s  memory  with  so  sor- 
rowful a remembrance  and  religious  a reverence.  He 


72 


INTRODUCTION 


was  beyond  all  things  solicitous  to  protect  his  former 
friend  against  misapprehension  and  slander.” 

Though  Mendelssohn  was  spared  the  cruel  fate  of 
his  life-long  friend  and  did  not  live  to  see  his  cherished 
ideals  ground  into  the  dust  by  the  apostacy  of  his 
nearest  of  kin,  he  suffered  a mortal  hurt  when  he 
learned  from  the  poet’s  friend,  Jacobi,  to  whom  as 
well  as  to  Herder,  he  had  confided  the  plan  of  erecting 
a worthy  literary  memorial  to  Lessing,  that  toward 
the  end  of  his  days,  he  had  openly  professed  Spino- 
zism.  To  one  who  ardently  cleaved  to  the  idea  of  a 
personal  God,  Providence  and  the  immortality  of  the 
soul,  it  seemed  almost  inconceivable  that  a dear  com- 
rade, who  had  never  hidden  the  thoughts  of  his  heart, 
should  have  dissembled  his  convictions.  He  imagined 
that  if  Lessing  had  looked  askance  at  his  philosophy, 
it  would  perhaps  soon  become  obsolete.  These  re- 
flections interfered  with  his  peace  of  mind  and  made 
him  restive  and  petulant. 

Although  in  his  last  work,  the  Morgenstunden,  or 
“Lectures  on  the  Existence  of  God”,  originally  de- 
livered, in  1785,  to  his  son  and  other  Jewish  and 
Christian  students,  including  the  two  Humboldts,  he 
simulated  a tranquility  he  did  not  feel,  he  became  so 
unnerved  by  the  strain  of  a rejoinder  he  was  writing 
to  Jacobi’s  book,  wherein  he  was  attacked  and  chal- 
lenged, that  he  finally  succumbed. 

This  literary  apology,  entitled  To  the  Friends  of 
Lessing,  proved  to  be  his  Swan  Song.  On  the  very 
day  he  handed  the  manuscript  to  his  publisher,  he 
caught  cold  and  a stroke  of  apoplexy  brought  his 
eventful  and  glorious  life  to  a close  (January  4,  1786). 


LESSING  AND  MENDELSSOHN 


73 


He  died,  as  he  had  lived,  a valiant  champion  in  the 
cause  of  righteousness,  a loyal  and  devoted  friend. 
One  is  reminded  of  that  sword  of  a truly  faithful 
knight,  on  which  was  graven  the  device:  “Never 

draw  me  without  right;  never  sheathe  me  without 
honor !” 

The  Prussian  capital  and  all  the  world  mourned 
the  loss  of  a man  upon  whose  like  they  were  not  soon 
to  look  again.  The  great  Kant,  lamenting  in  sorrow, 
exc.aimed:  “Ah,  there  was  but  one  Mendelssohn!” 

His  Christian  friends,  Nicolai,  Biester  and  Engel,  the 
last  a tutor  of  Crown  Prince  Frederick  III,  petitioned 
to  erect  a memorial  to  him,  on  the  public  square,  fac- 
ing the  Royal  Opera  House,  and,  while  this  did  not 
materialize,  it  is  a satisfaction  to  record  that  the 
city  of  Dessau,  where  he  was  born,  reared  him  a 
monument,  on  the  occasion  of  the  one  hundredth  an- 
niversary of  his  birth,  and  that  his  great-grandson 
commemorated  his  career  by  establishing  a founda- 
tion of  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  marks  in  his 
honor,  at  the  University  of  Berlin.  The  Union  of 
German  Jewish  congregations  issued  a Lessing-Men- 
delssohn  Memorial  Book  (Leipsic,  1879)  in  celebra- 
tion of  the  centenary  of  “Nathan  the  Wise”,  containing 
literary  tributes  from  the  pen  of  many  gifted  writers. 

Lessing  died  on  February  15,  1781.  Though  in 
his  last  years  he  had  written  to  Mendelssohn  but  sel- 
dom, we  have  the  entire  correspondence  which  passed 
between  these  two  ideal  friends  preserved  intact. 
Practically  all  the  letters  have  been  published.  They 
present  an  example  of  literary  friendship  seldom  paral- 


74 


INTRODUCTION 


leled  in  history.  It  is  noteworthy  that  some  of  these 
letters  to  Lessing  were  written  on  the  eve  of  the  Sab- 
bath. Mendelssohn  was  frequently  obliged  to  break 
off  abruptly,  so  as  not  to  violate  the  sanctity  of  the 
day.  Once  he  deplored  the  fact  that  the  oncoming 
Sabbath  prevented  him  from  hastening  to  his  stricken 
friend  in  Wolfenbiittel.  In  these  trifles,  as  in  mat- 
ters more  vital  and  grave,  he  showed  himself  a sincere 
and  steadfast  Jew,  faithful  to  the  behests  of  his 
Fathers. 

Happily,  he  lived  to  see  the  dawn  of  the  era  of 
emancipation  for  his  people,  whose  ethical  conscious- 
ness he  had  helped,  together  with  Lessing,  to  vitalize 
and  stimulate.  It  must  never  be  forgotten  that  Les- 
sing awakened  Mendelssohn  to  the  realization  of  his 
mission  and  that,  through  him,  the  illustrious  poet 
liberated  Judaism  from  the  self-imposed  fetters  of  the 
spirit. 


III. 

ANALYSIS  OF  THE  PLOT 

Nathan,  a rich  Jewish  merchant  in  Jerusalem,  whose 
trade  routes  lie  across  the  Jordan,  beyond  the  Tigris 
and  the  Euphrates,  has  a foster  child,  named  Recha, 
placed  into  his  custody  by  a monk,  when  yet  in  her 
infancy.  He  rears  her  with  exquisite  tenderness, 
lavishing  upon  her  all  the  wealth  of  a father’s  love. 
The  secret  of  her  origin  is  known  to  but  one  other 
beside  the  friar.  Nathan’s  Christian  servant,  Daja, 
though  devoted  to  both  father  and  daughter,  grows 
restive  under  the  ban  of  silence  imposed  upon  her 
and  longs  to  ease  her  oversensitive  conscience  by  di- 
vulging the  truth  of  their  relations.  When,  during 
one  of  Nathan’s  periodic  absences  from  home,  a brave 
young  Templar,  providentially  pardoned  by  the  Sultan 
because  of  a fancied  resemblance  to  his  dead  brother, 
Assad,  rescues  Recha  from  death,  her  gratitude  is 
fanned  into  flame  by  his  persistent  isolation  and  elusive- 
ness, and  develops  from  hero-worship  into  romantic 
love.  Daja  now  determines  to  seize  the  first  oppor- 
tunity to  tell  the  story  of  her  birth.  Nathan,  return- 
ing with  a rich  caravan,  learns  of  the  Templar’s  deed 
and  seeks  him  out,  brooding  among  the  date-trees  and 
the  palms.  He  proceeds  to  pour  out  his  heart,  but 
the  knight  spurns  him,  disdaining  kinship  with  a Jew. 

75 


76 


INTRODUCTION 


He  yields,  however,  to  the  latter’s  gentle  pleading  and, 
touched  by  his  wisdom  and  benevolence,  is  persuaded 
to  visit  Recha,  whose  love  he  soon  ardently  requites, 
despite  t'he  stern  discipline  enjoined  by  his  Order. 
When  Daja  finally  confesses  that  Recha  is  a Christian 
and  not  a Jewess,  he  is  so  obsessed  by  a sense  of  sacred 
duty  that  he  repairs  to  the  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem  for 
counsel  in  his  predicament.  Although  already  preju- 
diced against  him,  by  reason  of  the  fact  that  the  prelate 
had  attempted  to  involve  him  in  an  intrigue  which 
would  lead  to  the  assassination  of  Saladin,  his  benefac- 
tor, he  states  his  case  hypothetically,  without  betraying 
Nathan,  for  whom  he  still  cherishes  a reverent  affec- 
tion. He  is  repelled  by  the  Patriarch’s  self-righteous- 
ness and  inhumanity,  and  goes  to  the  Sultan,  before 
whom,  torn  by  conflicting  emotions,  he  denounces 
Nathan,  only  to  be  sternly  rebuked  by  the  enlightened 
monarch,  who  declares  that  Mussulman  and  Chris- 
tian are  alike  to  him  and  chides  him  not  to  be  a Chris- 
tian to  the  injury  of  Jew  or  Mussulman.  But  he 
pledges  his  royal  word  that  Recha  should  become  his, 
whimsically  indulging  the  passionate  lover,  in  whom 
he  again  pictures  his  long-lost  Assad. 

In  the  meantime,  Nathan  had  won  the  Sultan’s 
favor  in  a singular  manner:  His  treasurer,  Al-Hafi, 
a former  dervise  and  a loyal  friend  of  the  Jew,  sorely 
exercised  by  his  sovereign’s  reckless  generosity,  which 
appears  to  have  been  his  only  vice,  reveals,  in  an 
unguarded  moment,  the  touching  little  comedy  played 
by  Sittah,  Saladin’s  equally  magnanimous  sister.  A 
winner  of  considerable  sums  at  chess  with  her  royal 


ANALYSIS  OF  THE  PLOT 


77 


brother,  she  secretly  orders  them  to  be  put  back  into 
the  imperial  treasury,  advancing  always  more  funds 
from  her  own  resources  to  tide  over  the  financial 
stringency,  until  the  long-heralded  gold  from  Egypt 
arrives.  The  Sultan,  staggered  by  this  pious  fraud, 
refuses  to  countenance  further  sacrifices  on  her  part 
and  charges  Al-Hafi  to  take  instant  measures  to  re- 
plenish his  coffers,  by  borrowing  from  his  friend,  the 
Jew.  The  good  man,  deeply  distressed,  vainly  at- 
tempts to  divert  the  monarch  from  his  purpose.  Eager 
to  shield  Nathan,  whose  benefactions  are  only  equal 
to  the  Sultan’s  and  whose  means  he  already  sees 
jeopardized — an  easy  prey  to  his  master’s  spendthrift 
philanthropy — he  hastens  to  the  Jew  and  eagerly 
coaxes  him  to  flee  with  him  to  the  Ganges,  in  the  garb 
of  a dervise,  rather  than  stay  to  be  mulcted  by  Sala- 
din.  This  Nathan  gently  declines  to  do  and  bids  fare- 
well to  Al-Hafi,  bent  on  flight,  saying:  “Wild,  noble, 
good — How  shall  I call  him?  Truly,  the  genuine 
beggar  is  the  only  king !” 

Summoned  to  court,  he  shows  himself  a skilful 
casuist  and  at  once  commands  the  monarch’s  admira- 
tion. With  Sittah  eavesdropping  behind  the  curtain, 
Saladin  is  on  his  mettle  and  adroitly  propounds  the 
query  which  of  the  three  great  religions  is  the  best. 
Granted  a moment’s  time  for  reflection,  Nathan,  sur- 
prised that  truth  and  not  gold  was  wanted,  and  not 
altogether  reassured  that  this  whim  did  not  conceal 
a snare,  invents  an  ingenious  apologue,  wherewith  to 
bring  conviction  to  the  monarch’s  susceptible  heart. 
And  he  succeeds.  The  parable  of  The  Three  Rings, 


78 


INTRODUCTION 


borrowed  from  Boccaccio,  is  here  masterfully  told, 
with  a charm  and  dramatic  power  which  far  trans- 
cends the  original,  if  indeed  the  two  versions  can  bear 
comparison  at  all.  The  royal  listener  is  held  spell- 
bound by  this  subtly-conveyed  lesson  in  religious  toler- 
ance, which  finds  a spontaneous  response  in  his  im- 
pulsive, generous  nature.  Indeed,  the  story  at  once 
serves  as  the  motif  and  tendenz  of  this  immortal  epic. 
It  is  the  mould  into  which  the  poet  poured  all  his 
molten  gold.  The  exalted  thought,  the  choice  diction 
and  the  spiritual  fervor,  all  flow  from  the  crucible  of 
his  own  impassioned  soul.  Small  wonder  then  that 
the  imagination  of  the  great  Eastern  prince  should  be 
touched  and  that  the  artistic  climax,  with  its  daring 
challenge  of  infallibility,  should  bring  him  humbly 
to  the  narrator’s  feet.  “Be  my  friend!”  exclaims 
Saladin,  quite  overcome  by  emotion. 

Nathan  then  delicately  offers  his  money  bags,  as 
a gift,  which  the  Sultan,  hard-pressed  though  he  is 
for  funds,  reluctantly  accepts,  only  to  repay  the  loan 
on  the  instant  his  caravan  of  tribute  from  the  Nile 
arrives,  not  forgetting  to  lavish  a goodly  portion  of 
the  new-found  treasure  upon  the  faithful  Sittah — 
disdaining  an  overplus  of  wealth.  The  royal  pair  con- 
spire to  straighten  out  the  much-entangled  romance 
of  the  two  lovers,  send  for  Recha,  show  her  the  most 
tender  consideration,  reconcile  their  seemingly  impos- 
sible differences,  and,  when  they  are  finally  apprised 
of  the  Templar’s  true  identity,  through  the  Lay- 
Brother’s  revelations  to  Nathan,  who  had  all  along 
suspected  the  knight  to  be  the  son  of  an  old  comrade, 


( 


ANALYSIS  OF  THE  PLOT 


79 


the  Sultan’s  favorite  younger  brother,  Assad,  the  de- 
noument  is  overwhelming.  The  Templar  turns  out 
to  be  Recha’s  brother ; and  the  curtain  goes  down  with 
the  two  young  people  clinging  to  their  sovereign  uncle’s 
heart. 


IV. 

THE  CHARACTERS 


With  a plot  so  absorbing  and  complicated,  it  is 
significant  that  the  poet  maintained  so  high  an  artistic 
level  and  did  not  mar  its  beauty  and  dignity  by  melo- 
dramatic effects.  Though  pointing  a moral,  one  is 
never  conscious  of  the  preachment.  He  presents 
eternal  verities  with  a simplicity  and  directness  which 
give  a noble  fervor  to  his  emotional  appeal.  He  is  an 
ardent  seeker  after  truth.  It  is  the  key-note  of  the 
poem  and  brings  to  mind  the  celebrated  epigrammatic 
metaphor  he  employs  elsewhere : 

“If  God  held  all  truth  shut  in  His  right  hand,  and 
in  His  left,  nothing  but  an  ever-restless  striving  after 
truth,  though  with  the  condition  of  forever  and  ever 
erring,  and  should  say  to  me,  ‘Choose !’  I would  bow 
reverently  to  his  left  hand  and  say,  ‘Father,  give  1 
Pure  truth  is  for  Thee  alone!’” 

This  sublime  utterance  may  be  termed  a paraphrase 
of  the  old  Rabbinic  dictum:  “Truth  is  the  signet  ring 
of  God.” 

A critical  survey  of  the  characters  resolves  itself 
into  a study  in  contrasts. 

Daja — following  the  order  of  their  appearance  on 
the  scene — is  a loyal,  trusted  servant,  deeply  attached 
to  the  merchant’s  household.  She  recognizes  her 

80 


THE  CHARACTERS 


81 


master’s  rugged  honesty ; his  unexampled  devotion 
to  his  adopted  child ; his  prodigal  kindness  to  herself, 
which  manifests  itself  in  the  costly  gifts  he  lavishes 
upon  her  whenever  he  returns  from  his  travels.  Yet 
she  cannot  bring  herself  to  condone  what  she  assumes 
to  be  a defect  in  his  otherwise  flawless  character  in 
not  restoring  a Christian  orphan  to  the  church.  While 
her  cupidity  and  natural  love  of  finery  act  as  a stay 
to  her  ever-recurrent  impulse  to  denounce  him  to  the 
Patriarch,  she  does  not  scruple,  once  the  Templar 
crosses  her  path,  with  her  own  destiny  hanging  in  the 
balance,  to  renounce  her  allegiance  to  the  home  which 
has  so  bountifully  sheltered  her.  Characteristic  is  the 
request  she  makes  of  the  Templar,  after  she  unburdens 
her  secret: 

“But  when  you  take  her  back  to  Europe, 

Pray  leave  me  not  behind.” 

Weak,  selfish  and  calculating,  though  not  without 
intrinsic  virtues,  she  presents  a type  admirably 
sketched. 

In  Nathan,  we  have  one  of  the  richest,  truest  and 
loftiest  conceptions  in  the  whole  realm  of  German 
literature.  Indeed,  it  would  be  hard  to  find  his  paral- 
lel elsewhere.  One  noted  critic  maintains  that  he 
alone,  of  all  creations  of  fiction,  approximates  the 
Christ  ideal.  That  he  should  stand  head  and  shoulders 
above  the  personages  marshalled  before  our  eyes  with 
such  consummate  artistry  by  the  author,  is  only  proof 
of  the  wide-spread  belief  that  he  took  his  model  from 
life  and  that,  in  the  Jew,  Lessing  intended  to  portray 
his  friend,  Moses  Mendelssohn,  the  German  Socrates, 


82 


INTRODUCTION 


who  combined  a splendid  philosophic  calm  with  world- 
ly wisdom,  and  the  sweet  benignity  of  whose  private 
life  is  a matter  of  common  knowledge.  Surely,  no 
finer  tribute  has  ever  been  paid  to  a Jew  by  a Chris- 
tian. In  the  history  of  human  tolerance,  this  is  a golden 
chapter  indeed. 

Merchant  and  sage,  animated  by  the  noblest  ideals, 
which  remain  deeply  rooted  in  the  face  of  every  mis- 
fortune ; chastened  and  sanctified  by  self-abnegation, 
yet  retaining  those  distinctive  traits  which  make  him 
essentially  human,  he  is  not  in  the  least  idealized  by 
the  poet’s  fancy.  He  meets  the  great  men  of  the 
world  with  diffidence,  but  without  fear;  with  delicate 
caution,  but  with  a sturdy  self-reliance,  which  enables 
him  to  master  any  situation.  He  has  both  courage 
and  reserve,  blandness  and  strategy,  wit  and  friendly 
banter,  at  easy  command.  He  is  guileless  withal,  and 
he  never  fails  to  convey  the  impression  of  complete 
poise  and  sincerity.  Strong  in  his  ethical  conscious- 
ness, he  is  not  like  the  Patriarch,  full  of  arrogant 
self-righteousness,  but  uses  it  as  a natural  lever  to 
move  the  high-minded  and  spiritual  monarch,  in  whom 
he  recognizes  a kindred  soul.  In  his  dealings  with 
all  men,  he  is  frank,  magnanimous  and  modest,  ap- 
proaching them  with  a pleasing  humility  which  is 
more  noble  than  servile.  A profound  intellectual  cul- 
ture takes  the  place  of  a pride  of  race  and  imparts 
to  all  his  actions  and  utterances  a becoming  dignity 
and  grace.  His  is  a broad  tolerance,  conceding  to  each 
his  inalienable  right ; and,  wherever  he  meets  bigotry, 
he  overcomes  it  without  effort  or  artifice.  It  is  his 


THE  CHARACTERS 


83 


naturalness,  serenity  and  moral  fervor  which  win  all 
hearts.  He  has  the  genuine  ring,  which  makes  its 
wearer  beloved  of  God  and  man. 

Recha  becomes  his  creature,  and  he  moulds  her 
plastic  nature  by  working  upon  her  emotions  through 
her  intelligence.  He  strengthens  the  native  purity  of 
her  soul  by  a patient,  purposeful  rationalism,  wholly 
devoid  of  cant  and  pedantry.  He  is  not  a dogmatist, 
advances  no  theological  creed  or  doctrine,  but  brings 
conviction  to  the  mind  by  the  straight  and  subtle  pro- 
cesses of  reason.  His  solicitous  kindness  restrains 
Daja;  links  his  foster-daughter  to  himself  closer  than 
any  tie  of  blood;  disarms  the  morose,  suspicious  and 
solitary  Templar;  claims  the  homage  of  the  Indian 
dervise;  the  loyalty  of  the  quaint,  humble  but  honest 
Lay-Brother,  who,  as  the  unwilling  emissary  of  the 
priest,  would  do  no  wrong;  and  conquers  the  heart 
of  the  mighty  prince,  who  well  merits  the  title  of  his 
rank — “Protector  of  the  Faithful”.  In  him,  the 
artist’s  brush  has  limned  a luminous  portrait,  all  har- 
mony of  tone  and  color ; a masterpiece  for  all  genera- 
tions. 

Recha  is  a sweet,  unspoiled,  amiable  child,  living 
in  a world  of  sublime  ideals.  She  is  all  naivete  and 
innocence.  She  clings  to  her  father,  even  after  she 
learns  of  her  true  origin,  with  a steadfastness  and 
rapturous  love,  touching  to  behold.  She  will  have 
him  and  no  other  for  her  parent.  How  spontaneously 
she  responds  to  his  call ! With  what  filial  piety  she 
follows  him  in  his  wanderings ! How  she  defies  the 
world  to  tear  him  from  her  adoring  heart ! Her  im- 


/ 


84 


INTRODUCTION 


agination  is  stirred  by  her  miraculous  rescue  from 
the  flames,  and  she  yields  to  the  half  romantic,  half 
mystical  fancy,  which  would  seem  grotesque  in  any 
other  adolescent  child,  that  the  Knight  is  a supernat- 
ural being,  until  the  father,  first  tender  and  indulging 
her  humor,  sanely  reasons  it  out  of  her  head.  And 
with  what  ineffable  womanly  charm  she  melts  into 
her  brother’s  arms  when  he  ungraciously  receives 
the  truth — that  she  is  his  sister.  Here  is  a bit  of 
delicate  comedy,  which,  but  for  the  poet’s  intuitive 
sense  of  dramatic  values,  could  well  have  degenerated 
into  farce. 

In  sharp  contrast  to  Recha,  in  whom  it  is  assumed 
Lessing  designed  to  idealize  his  own  adopted  daugh- 
ter, stands  the  knightly  lover,  an  open-hearted,  high- 
minded,  upright  and  innately  unprejudiced  youth, 
whom  the  Crusades  have  taught  that  it  is  mere  pious 
frenzy  to  flaunt  his  God  before  the  world  as  the  only 
best,  but  who,  nevertheless,  looks  askance  upon  the 
Jew,  until  he  probes  his  intrinsic  worth.  Not  before 
gusts  of  passion  have  swept  through  his  soul  and  the 
effect  of  his  headlong  resentment  threatened  Nathan 
and  his  household  with  disaster,  does  he  realize  his 
error  and  expiate  it  in  the  keenest  remorse.  His  sense 
of  justice,  his  inherent  nobility  of  disposition,  even 
his  stubborn  pride,  which  betrayed  his  aristocratic 
birth,  are  all  vividly  portrayed,  and  one  can  readily 
sympathize  with  Saladin  for  condoning  the  valiant, 
violent,  impetuous  boy,  in  whom  he  has  so  unerringly 
recognized  his  favorite  Assad. 

Some  of  the  Templar’s  shining  qualities  are  revealed 


THE  CHARACTERS 


85 


in  his  royal  kinsman.  Saladin  is  all  heart,  impulse 
and  temperament.  Genial,  lovable,  quixotically  gen- 
erous, he  is  every  inch  a prince.  His  magnanimity 
is  spontaneous  and  unaffected,  and  rounds  out  a char- 
acter which,  in  its  salient  features,  resembles  Less- 
ing’s. For  the  poet’s  own  spiritual  nature,  his  moral 
trend  and  his  habits  of  mind  afford  a singularly  close 
parallel.  He,  too,  had  a passion  for  human  kinship, 
regardless  of  creed,  color  and  condition.  He  was 
effervescent,  impulsive,  buoyant  and  convivial — a bon 
camerade  with  all  men.  He  loved  disputation  and 
controversy,  and  the  soulful  legend  of  the  three  rings, 
illustrating  the  potency  of  all  religious  beliefs  and 
emphasizing  the  Fatherhood  of  God,  is  the  expression 
of  his  own  individual  credo.  The  genius  of  the  pole- 
mist  comes  into  play  in  the  satirical  dialogue  between 
the  Templar  and  the  Lay-Brother,  and  in  the  scene 
where  the  Patriarch  ponders,  with  evident  unction  and 
zest,  upon  the  problem  the  Knight  circumspectly  un- 
folds to  his  view.  Saladin,  like  his  creator,  is  full 
of  kindly  banter,  assuming,  at  times,  a tone  of  austere 
rebuke ; but  he  is  never  stern  and  vindictive.  His 
judgment  is  tempered  by  mercy.  He  thinks  quickly 
and  clearly,  and  his  conclusions  are  inevitably  sane 
and  just.  Noble  and  chivalrous,  he  puts  one  in  mind 
of  Haroun  al  Rashid,  the  great  democratic  prince  of 
the  Arabian  Nights,  who  did  good  by  stealth  and  moved 
about  incognito  among  his  subjects,  in  the  dead  of 
night,  to  be  able  to  read  them  aright  and  to  deal  wise- 
ly and  humanely  with  them. 

It  is  pointed  out  by  an  astute  critic  of  the  drama 


86 


INTRODUCTION 


that  Saladin  was  far  too  generous  to  prevail  upon 
the  Jew  by  a ruse.  It  was  Sittah  who  originated  the 
snare  wherewith  to  entrap  him,  but,  whereas,  in  Boc- 
caccio’s story,  the  Sultan  was  satisfied  by  Melchizedek’s 
ingenious  evasion,  the  monarch  here  earnestly  seeks 
the  truth  and  is  gratified  and  humbled  by  Nathan’s 
parable  and  its  application.  He  is  stirred  to  the  depths, 
instinctively  sensing  the  other’s  greatness,  and  pledges 
his  august  patronage  in  return.  Under  the  spell  of 
this  absorbing  legend,  one  unconsciously  reverts  to  a 
similar  scene,  enacted  before  another  mighty  Eastern 
king — the  sweet  singer  of  Israel,  to  whom  a humble 
prophet  propounded  a problem  of  conscience,  with 
equal  dignity  and  force,  and  with  a like  dramatic 
climax. 

It  is  this  episode  in  the  play  which  moves  the  im- 
agination of  the  audience  and  evokes  enthusiastic  ap- 
plause. Though  often  imitated  by  great  dramatic 
poets — notably,  in  Schiller’s  Don  Carlos — no  one  has 
yet  even  approximately  achieved  so  distinctive  a tri- 
umph in  artistic  effect,  and  it  is  unlikely  that  this 
model  will  ever  be  improved  upon. 

Generous  in  his  benefactions  to  the  point  of  reck- 
lessness; improvident  and  disdainful  of  money  cares, 
like  Lessing  himself,  Saladin  cheerfully  submits  to 
his  sister’s  dominance  in  matters  of  finance  and  world- 
ly wisdom.  As  in  his  relation  to  others,  he  is  tender, 
considerate  and  indulgent  toward  her,  pouring  his 
gold  into  her  lap  with  regal  unconcern ; — a game  loser 
at  chess,  in  which  chivalry  spurns  to  take  advantage 
of  a chance  to  win,  while  victory  is  still  in  sight.  Even 


THE  CHARACTERS 


87 


Al-Hafi,  who  recounts  the  incident  to  his  friend 
Nathan,  is  staggered  by  this  show  of  princely  cour- 
tesy, and  despairing  of  his  ability  to  guard  the  treas- 
ury against  his  master’s  noble  extravagance,  deserts 
his  post  to  rejoin  his  brothers  in  the  faith.  Here  again, 
it  is  to  the  author’s  fondness  for  chess,  in  which  he 
was  an  adept,  that  we  owe  perhaps  the  most  absorb- 
ing and  affecting  episode  in  the  drama. 

One  is  impressed  by  the  monarch’s  masterful  will, 
his  splendid  humors ; his  outbursts  of  passion ; his 
gift  for  conciliation ; his  unrestrained  generosity,  which 
is  as  natural  as  his  unselfishness ; his  enlightened  tol- 
erance in  all  things  affecting  his  fellowmen;  but  es- 
pecially by  his  sane,  wholesome  democracy,  which 
renders  him  so  human  and  approachable.  Whatever 
flaws  the  captious  may  find  in  his  character,  none  can 
deny  that  we  have  in  Saladin  a counterpart  of  the 
great  Friedrich  of  Hohenstaufen — an  illustrious  prince 
indeed. 

Sittah  serves  as  a picturesque  background  for  Sala- 
din. In  some  respects,  she  complements  him.  While 
she  dominates  in  trifles,  as  well  as  in  matters  of  great 
moment,  and  he  defers  to  her  judgment  with  the  gra- 
cious courtesy  characteristic  of  him,  she  draws  inspira- 
tion from  his  rich  mind  and  enthusiastic  nature.  Her 
frugality,  serene  intelligence,  clear  insight,  and,  above 
all,  her  beautiful  devotion  to  him,  enable  her  to  com- 
prehend him  thoroughly  and  to  enter  into  his  inner 
life  with  a sympathy  and  understanding  which  become 
a prop  and  a comfort  to  him.  In  dealing  with  policies 
of  state,  she  shows  herself  less  liberal  in  her  views, 


88 


INTRODUCTION 


as  when  she  derides  the  projected  alliance  with  Richard 
and  again  when  she  advocates  a bolder  course  with 
Nathan,  whom  the  Sultan  is  about  to  receive.  Yet, 
she  is  not  petty  and  narrow-minded,  and  does  nothing 
to  thwart  his  plans  and  ideals.  They  are  two  com- 
rades, acting  in  perfect  harmony,  howevermuch  they 
may  seem  to  differ  in  essentials.  It  is  assuredly  a mis- 
take to  aver  that  she  was  cunning  and  that  she  was 
“actuated  by  a multitude  of  almost  imperceptible  fem- 
inine motives”.  There  is  nothing  in  the  text  to  justify 
such  a charge. 

Lessing’s  delicate  humor  is  evidenced  in  his  delinea- 
tion of  the  Dervise,  who  is  said  to  have  been  pat- 
terned after  a Jewish  mathematician  of  Mendelssohn’s 
entourage,  a young  Pole,  Abraham  Wolf  Rechen- 
meister  by  name.  Though  risen  to  prominence  at  the 
Sultan’s  court,  where  he  watches  with  melancholy 
resignation  the  dwindling  treasury,  his  heart  is  with 
his  brethren  in  India.  “Beside  the  Ganges  only  are 
there  men,”  he  says  to  his  friend,  Nathan,  who,  sens- 
ing the  yearning  of  this  beggar-philosopher,  and  not 
altogether  strange  to  the  emotion  himself,  exclaims : 
“Al-Hafi,  make  all  haste, 

To  get  into  your  wilderness  again. 

I fear  lest  living  among  men,  you  will  cease 
To  be  a man  yourself.” 

And  he  goes  back  to  his  people,  satisfied  that  he  plays 
but  a sorry  role  as  the  nominal  financier  of  state, 
which  his  master’s  chronic  lavishness  makes  untenable, 
and  convinced  that  perfect  happiness  for  him  lies  in 
renouncing  the  world,  with  its  pleasures  and  allure- 


THE  CHARACTERS 


89 


ments,  and  in  leading  a life  of  contemplation  and  self- 
effacement.  With  all  his  monastic  ideals,  he  is  a lov- 
able figure — almost  a match  for  the  Jewish  sage,  whom 
he  venerates. 

By  way  of  both  contrast  and  parallel,  we  have  the 
Lay-Brother,  a weakling  with  a conscience,  who  com- 
bines cringing  humility  with  a passion  for  righteous- 
ness. Ostensibly  a blind  tool  of  the  Patriarch,  he 
deftly  contrives  to  show  him  in  an  unfavorable  light, 
without  violating  the  letter  of  his  instructions.  He  is 
shrewd  without  cunning ; bland  without  guile ; sub- 
missive without  loss  of  dignity;  and  ruggedly  honest, 
despite  the  nature  of  the  errands  in  which  he  is  en- 
gaged. His  truly  pious  mind  follows  a simple  code 
— charitableness  and  compassion.  When  he  warns 
Nathan  of  the  probable  consequence  of  his  own  mag- 
nanimous deed,  in  which  he  sees  only  a splendid  ex- 
pression of  humanity,  he  shows  himself  the  true 
Christian.  It  was  through  his  foresight  that  the  dis- 
covery of  the  precious  heirloom  led  to  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Knight’s  paternity.  There  is  something 
genuine,  tender,  almost  noble  in  his  attitude,  and  the 
poet’s  felicitous  conception  of  him  brings  him  very 
near  to  our  hearts. 

Finally,  we  have,  in  the  Patriarch,  the  most  glar- 
ing contrast  of  all.  Impervious  to  the  dictates  of 
humanity,  and  obstinately  dogmatic  and  combative  to 
the  point  of  fanaticism,  he  wraps  himself  in  the  cloak 
of  sanctity  and  excommunicates  all  who  dissent  from 
his  accepted  creed.  He  is  pictured  as  a “fat,  rosy, 
jolly  prelate”,  but  we  should  have  imagined  him  rather 


>k 


90 


INTRODUCTION 


gaunt,  sinister  and  forbidding.  Undoubtedly,  Less- 
ing meant  him  to  be  a caricature  of  his  old  adversary, 
Melchior  Goeze,  and  it  must  have  afforded  him  a 
humorous  satisfaction  to  finish  him  off  with  such  a 
lifelike  pastel. 

One  knows  not  what  to  single  out  as  his  predom- 
inant trait : — his  boastful  self-sufficiency,  or  his  hypoc- 
risy ; his  bigotry  or  his  pompous  piety.  An  egotist 
to  the  core,  he  deludes  himself  into  the  belief  that  he 
is  the  viceroy  of  God  on  earth  and  that  God  needs 
his  protection.  He  and  Daja  are  one  in  their  em- 
phasis upon  Christian  revelation  as  the  only  scheme 
of  salvation.  Whoever  deviates  one  jot  from  orthodox 
doctrine  is  doomed  to  perdition.  When  the  Templar 
acquaints  him  with  the  details  of  the  story  he  had 
heard  from  Daja’s  lips,  his  severity  becomes  vindic- 
tiveness, and  he  longs  to  mete  out  punishment  to  the 
Jew,  whose  rare  charity  of  heart  he  is  incapable  of 
understanding.  That  Recha  should  have  been  given 
shelter,  protection  and  a father’s  devoted  love,  in  the 
face  of  an  experience  which  would  have  filled  another 
man  with  violent  hatred  to  the  Christian ; that  she 
should  have  been  reared  with  consideration,  tender- 
ness and  scrupulous  care,  in  the  fear  of  God,  though 
not  necessarily  in  the  evangelical  faith,  is  condemned 
as  a crime  by  the  implacable  priest,  who  exclaims : 

“For  all  is  violence 

That’s  done  to  children,  is  it  not? — That  is 

Excepting  what  the  church  may  do  to  children !” 
When  the  Knight,  taken  aback  by  this  monstrous 
doctrine,  is  impelled  to  plead: 


THE  CHARACTERS 


91 


“But  if  the  child  in  misery  had  died 
Unless  the  Jew  had  had  compassion  on  it?” 
the  Patriarch  promptly  rejoins: 

“It  matters  not;  the  Jew  goes  to  the  stake! 
Better  the  child  had  died  in  misery  here 
Than  thus  be  saved  for  everlasting  ruin.” 

Three  times  the  arrogant  churchman,  investing  him- 
self in  his  inflexible  creed  as  in  a coat  of  mail,  renders 
this  inhuman  verdict.  For  such  a deed  of  mercy  he 
has  but  a triple  stake  as  reward. 

On  finding  the  Templar  no  longer  communicative, 
he  threatens  instant  reprisal  by  an  appeal  to  the  Sultan, 
resting  his  claim  for  protection  upon  the  treaty  the 
monarch  had  sworn,  and  forgetting,  now  that  his  self- 
interest  is  uppermost,  that  he  had  planned  to  destroy 
his  life.  How  he  cringes  when  he  learns  that  this 
young  Crusader  is  summoned  to  court,  and  with  what 
cant  he  makes  swift  obeisance,  fearing  lest  his  own 
liberty  be  imperiled  : — 

“Ah  ! — The  Knight,  I know, 

Found  favor  with  the  Sultan.  I but  pray 
To  be  remembered  graciously  to  him. 

My  only  motive  is  my  zeal  for  God. 

If  I in  aught  exceed7”tis  for  His  sake. 

I pray  the  Knight  will  so  consider  it. 

That  tale  about  the  Jew  was  but  a problem — 

Not  so,  Sir  Knight? ” 

Truckler  and  sycophant,  using  religion  merely  as 
a means  to  power,  he  assumes  the  role  of  grand  in- 
quisitor and  knows  not  the  gentle  precept  of  the  pro- 
phet: “What  doth  the  Lord  require  of  thee  but  to 


92 


INTRODUCTION 


do  justice  and  to  love  mercy  and  to  walk  humbly 
with  thy  God !” 

These  are  the  varied  and  distinctive  types  wThich 
the  poet  presents  to  our  view.  The  priest  is  the  only 
personage  in  the  drama  who  is  ignoble  and  repellant. 
All  the  others  are  richly  dowered  with  genial  human 
traits.  They  are  a select  company.  But,  however 
one  or  the  other  may  shine  by  his  own  intrinsic  merit, 
the  figure  of  the  Jewish  merchant-sage  looms  most 
conspicuous.  He  is  the  single  hero  amid  a splendid 
coterie  of  men,  a character  quaint,  genial,  strong,  lofty 
and  lovable — a veritable  exemplar  of  the  noblest  and 
the  best. 


THE  PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 

ANALOGUES  AND  PARALLELS 


It  will  be  recalled  that  Lessing’s  theological  duel 
with  Goze  was  over  the  essence  of  religion.  In 
“Nathan”  the  poet  designed  to  typify,  in  living  and 
tangible  form,  the  elemental  conditions  of  religion.  He 
embodied  in  his  characters,  without  meaning  to  do  so, 
the  pivotal  questions  in  this  controversy.  It  may 
therefore  be  said  that  polemics  helped  to  give  to  the 
world  this  wonderful  didactic  poem,  which  the  author 
called  the  “son  of  his  advancing  old  age”.  But,  it 
must  be  understood  that  it  was  not  inspired  by  his 
disputation  with  Goze.  Those  who  would  read  any 
such  meaning  into  the  drama  have  not  inquired  into 
its  origin.  As  already  stated,  it  had  been  conceived 
long  before  he  knew  the  Hamburg  pastor.  In  a letter 
to  his  brother,  he  said  that  it  was  a theme  which  he 
had  sketched  out  many  years  ago.  Perhaps  the  be- 
ginnings of  his  plan  may  be  traced  back  to  the  first 
period  of  his  literary  activity. 

One  of  Lessing’s  achievements  was  to  disinter  long- 
forgotten  characters  in  history  and  to  rescue  them 
from  oblivion.  Among  those  whom  he  had  thus  re- 
instated was  Hieronymus  Cardanus,  an  Italian  phil- 
osopher of  the  sixteenth  century,  who,  in  his  De  Sub- 

93 


94 


INTRODUCTION 


tilitate,  compares  the  four  religions  of  the  world — 
the  Pagan,  Jewish,  Christian  and  Moslem.  His  work 
took  the  form  of  a colloquy,  in  which  each  speaker 
defends  his  own  creed  against  others.  It  was  charged 
that  Christianity  was  accorded  the  humblest  place  in 
the  author’s  estimate.  Lessing  controverts  this  view. 
Indeed,  he  maintains  that  the  Jews  and  Mohamme- 
dans do  not  receive  adequate  treatment.  Had  Lessing 
been  pleading  their  cause,  he  would  have  made  out 
quite  a different  case  for  these  two  religions ; and  in 
his  essay  on  Cardanus,  he  proceeds  to  sketch  out  a 
little  plan  of  defense  for  them.  This  recalls  the  lead- 
ing motive  of  the  poem.  The  Christian,  Jewish  and 
Mohammedan  religions  enter  the  lists  against  one 
another.  Each  one  is  called  upon  to  speak  on  its  own 
behalf,  in  such  a way  that  the  anti-Christian  religions 
may  have  full  justice  done  them.  It  is  natural  that 
the  thought  of  presenting  the  subject  dramatically 
should  have  occurred  to  him  at  that  time. 

However,  we  know,  from  his  own  statement,  that 
he  derived  his  inspiration  for  the  story  of  the  three 
rings  from  Boccaccio’s  “Decameron”,  the  text  of  which 
we  give  in  full,  later.  Yet  there  is  one  important  dif- 
ference between  Lessing  and  Boccaccio.  With  the 
latter,  the  ring  is  only  a jewel,  entitling  the  possessor 
to  nothing  but  the  inheritance  and  the  position  of  head 
of  the  family.  With  Lessing,  on  the  contrary,  it  bears 
a higher  significance:  it  had  the  secret  power  of  giv- 
ing favor,  in  sight  of  God  and  man,  to  him  who  wore 
it  with  a believing  heart.  In  “Nathan”,  the  ring  bears 
a certain  charm.  The  wearer  is  destined  to  win  all 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


95 


hearts.  “Only  he  who  sows  love,  reaps  love.  He 
who  receives  the  most  love,  because  he  has  given  the 
most,  is  undoubtedly  in  possession  of  the  true  ring. 
But  all  three  are  disputing.  Each  considers  himself 
the  favored  one  and  the  others  impostors.  Each  one 
hates  the  others.  So  long  as  this  intolerant,  selfish 
strife  continues,  the  treasure  of  love  is  not  among 
them;  so  long  the  true  ring  remains  undiscovered; 
so  long  all  three  that  are  produced  are  counterfeit. 
And  how  if  the  true  ring  should  declare  itself  ? If 
its  power  should  begin  to  work?  Then  one  is  the 
most  beloved  and  must,  therefore,  have  earned  love; 
it  must  have  conquered  the  hearts  of  the  others.  And1 
if  one  is  the  best  beloved,  there  must  be  love  and, 
therefore,  purity  of  heart,  in  the  others.  Each  one 
will,  in  proportion  to  his  power  of  self-renunciation, 
love  his  neighbor,  understand  his  views  and  practise 
forbearance.” 

This  is  the  main  drift  of  the  parable,  and  it  can 
readily  be  seen  that  Lessing’s  presentation  far  trans- 
cends the  original  in  Boccaccio. 

In  order  to  enable  the  reader  to  judge  for  himself 
the  contrast  between  the  two  versions,  we  let  Boc- 
caccio speak  for  himself  : — 

“Saladin  was  so  brave  and  great  a man,  that  he 
had  raised  himself  from  an  inconsiderable  station,  to 
be  Sultan  of  Babylon  and  had  gained  many  victories 
over  both  Turkish  and  Christian  princes.  This  mon- 
arch, having  in  divers  wars,  and  by  many  extraordin- 
ary expenses,  run  through  all  his  treasure,  some  ur- 
gent occasion  fell  out  that  he  wanted  a large  sum  of 


96 


INTRODUCTION 


money.  Not  knowing  which  way  he  might  raise 
enough  to  answer  his  necessities,  he  at  last  called  to 
mind  a rich  Jew  of  Alexandria,  named  Melchizedeck, 
who  let  out  money  at  interest.  Him  he  believed  to 
have  wherewithal  to  serve  him;  but  then  he  was  so 
covetous,  that  he  would  never  do  it  willingly,  and 
Saladin  was  loath  to  force  him.  But,  as  necessity 
has  no  law,  after  much  thinking  which  way  the  mat- 
ter might  best  be  effected,  he  at  last  resolved  to  use 
force  under  some  colour  of  reason.  He,  therefore, 
sent  for  the  Jew,  received  him  in  a most  gracious 
manner,  and  making  him  sit  down,  thus  addressed 
him:  ‘Worthy  man,  I hear  from  divers  persons  that 
thou  art  very  wise  and  knowing  in  religious  matters ; 
wherefore  I would  gladly  know  from  thee  which 
religion  thou  judgest  to  be  the  true  one,  viz.  the  Jew- 
ish, the  Mohammedan,  or  the  Christian?’  The  Jew 
(truly  a wise  man)  found  that  Saladin  had  a mind  to 
trap  him,  and  must  gain  his  point  should  he  exalt  any 
one  of  the  three  religions  above  the  others ; after  con- 
sidering, therefore,  for  a little  how  best  to  avoid  the 
snare,  his  ingenuity  at  last  supplied  him  with  the  fol- 
lowing answer: 

“The  question  which  your  Highness  has  proposed  is 
very  curious ; and,  that  I may  give  you  my  sentiments, 
I must  beg  leave  to  tell  a short  story.  I remember 
often  to  have  heard  of  a great  and  rich  man,  who, 
among  his  most  rare  and  precious  jewels,  had  a ring 
of  exceeding  beauty  and  value.  Being  proud  of  pos- 
sessing a thing  of  such  worth  and  desirous  that  it 
should  continue  forever  in  his  family,  he  declared, 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


97 


by  will,  that  whichsoever  of  his  sons  he  should  give 
this  ring,  him  he  designed  for  his  heir,  and  that  he 
should  be  respected  as  the  head  of  the  family.  That 
son  to  whom  the  ring  was  given,  made  the  same  law 
with  respect  to  his  descendants,  and  the  ring  passed 
from  one  to  another  in  long  succession,  till  it  came 
to  a person  who  had  three  sons,  all  virtuous  and  duti- 
ful to  their  father,  and  all  equally  beloved  by  him. 
Now  the  young  men,  knowing  what  depended  upon 
the  ring,  and  ambitious  of  superiority,  began  to  en- 
treat their  father,  who  was  now  grown  old,  every  one 
for  himself,  that  he  would  give  the  ring  to  him.  The 
good  man,  equally  fond  of  all,  was  at  a loss  which  to 
prefer;  and,  as  he  had  promised  all  and  wished  to 
satisfy  all,  he  privately  got  an  artist  to  make  two 
other  rings,  which  were  so  like  the  first,  that  he  him- 
self scarcely  knew  the  true  one.  When  he  found  his 
end  approaching,  he  secretly  gave  one  ring  to  each 
of  his  sons ; and  they,  after  his  death,  all  claimed  the 
honour  and  estate,  each  disputing  with  his  brothers, 
and  producing  his  ring;  and  the  rings  were  found  so 
much  alike,  that  the  true  one  could  not  be  dis- 
tinguished. To  law  then  they  went,  as  to  which  should 
succeed,  nor  is  that  question  yet  decided.  And  thus  it 
has  happened,  my  Lord,  with  regard  to  the  three  laws 
given  by  God  the  Father,  concerning  which  you  pro- 
posed your  question : every  one  believes  he  is  the  true 
heir  of  God,  has  his  law,  and  obeys  his  command- 
ments ; but  which  is  in  the  right  is  uncertain,  in  like 
manner  as  with  the  rings.’ 

Saladin  perceived  that  the  Jew  had  very  cleverly 


98 


INTRODUCTION 


escaped  the  net  which  was  spread  for  him ; he,  there- 
fore, resolved  to  discover  his  necessity  to  him,  and 
see  if  he  would  lend  him  money,  telling  him  at  the 
same  time  what  he  had  designed  to  do,  had  not  that 
discreet  answer  prevented  him.  The  Jew  freely  sup- 
plied the  monarch  with  what  he  wanted ; and  Saladin 
afterwards  paid  him  back  in  full,  made  him  large 
presents,  besides  maintaining  him  nobly  at  his  court, 
and  was  his  friend  as  long  as  he  lived.” 

It  is  claimed  that  Boccaccio  derived  his  story  from 
a celebrated  collection  of  Italian  tales,  composed  in 
the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries,  entitled  Cento 
Novelle  Antiche,  whose  author  is  not  known,  although 
they  have  been  ascribed,  without  adequate  proof,  to 
Dante,  Brunetto  Latini  and  Francesco  Barberini. 
While  some  scholars  maintain,  from  internal  evidence, 
that  the  Novelle  had  a single  author,  a Florentine 
merchant,  one  is  obliged  to  conclude,  for  sufficient 
reasons,  that  this  is  not  the  case.  The  greater  part 
of  the  material  describes  incidents  from  the  second 
half  of  the  thirteenth  century.  It  may  be  accepted, 
on  the  authority  of  Dr.  Marcus  Landau,  who  wrote 
a fascinating  book  on  “The  Sources  of  the  Decame- 
ron”, that  the  stories  were  collected  in  the  second 
quarter  of  the  fourteenth  century,  possibly  after  Boc- 
caccio’s death.  Of  course,  it  is  probable  that  the  lat- 
ter used  a great  deal  of  the  matter  contained  in  the 
“Novelle”,  which  was  circulated  as  oral  tradition, 
but  it  is  quite  safe  to  assume  that  he  had  no  complete 
written  text  before  him,  certainly  not  in  collected 
form,  especially  as  manuscripts  of  these  stories  were 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


99 


always  exceedingly  rare  and  have  only  recently  been 
discovered.  Up  to  the  present  time,  no  copy  of  a 
dated  edition  from  the  fifteenth  century  has  been 
located.  The  first  edition  appeared  in  Bologna  in  1525, 
and  the  second  in  Florence,  in  1572. 

There  is,  in  the  “Novelle”,  a brief  and  naive  version 
of  the  story  of  Saladin  and  the  Jew,  which  Boccaccio 
may  or  may  not  have  seen.  It  tells  of  a Sultan,  who, 
being  in  need  of  money,  determined  to  find  some  fault 
with  a rich  Jew  who  was  in  his  dominions  and  de- 
prive him  of  his  extensive  property.  Accordingly  the 
Sultan  sent  for  the  Jew  and  demanded  to  know  which 
was  the  true  faith,  designing  that  if  he  should  reply 
“the  Jewish”,  to  say  “you  are  blaspheming  against  my 
religion”  and  if  he  should  answer  “The  Moslem”,  to  re- 
tort “why  are  you  then  a Jew?”  When  the  Jew  saw 
himself  thus  cornered,  he  took  refuge  in  this  parable : 
“There  was  a father  who  had  three  sons.  He  had  a 
ring  with  a precious  stone,  the  most  valuable  in  the 
world.  Each  of  the  sons  besought  his  father  to  be- 
queath to  him  this  ring;  the  father,  seeing  that  each 
of  them  was  desirous  of  having  it,  sent  for  a skilful 
goldsmith  and  caused  him  to  make  two  rings  so  like 
the  original  that  no  one  but  himself  could  tell  the 
difference.  Then  he  sent  for  his  sons  in  turn  and  gave 
them  each  a ring,  but  none  of  them  knew  which  was 
the  true  one.  “And  thus”  concluded  the  Jew,  “I  answer 
as  regards  the  three  religions.  Our  Father  on  High 
knows,  and  we  who  are  the  sons  each  believe  we  pos- 
sess the  true  ring.”  The  Sultan,  baffled  by  the  Jew’s 
ingenuity,  knew  not  what  to  reply,  and  decided  to  let 
him  go  unmolested. 


100 


INTRODUCTION 


Landau  does  not  agree  that  this  is  the  prototype 
of  the  Boccaccio  story,  but  contends  that  its  more 
immediate  source  is  the  Avventuroso  Cicilmio,  com- 
posed by  Busone  de’  Rafaelli,  of  Gubbio,  commonly 
called  Bosone  or  Busone.  He  was  born  about  1280 
and  died  in  1350.  He  is  known  to  have  been  a friend 
of  Dante  and  of  the  Hebrew  poet  Immanuel  of  Rome 
(sometimes  called  Manoello),  with  whom  he  exchanged 
complimentary  sonnets.  Busone’s  account  is  as  fol- 
lows : — 

“Ansalon  the  Jew  dwelt  in  Babylon,  and  was  enor- 
mously rich,  and  I would  have  you  to  know  that 
throughout  the  whole  universe  the  Jews  are  hated  and 
have  no  country  nor  Lord.  It  happened  that  Saladin 
was  in  want  of  money  on  account  of  a war  he  was  car- 
rying on  against  the  Christians,  and  was  advised  that 
he  should  take  the  money  of  Ansalon  the  Jew.  He 
sent  for  him  and  said,  ‘Ansalon,  I have  sent  for 
you  to  tell  me  what  Faith  (Law)  is  the  best,  yours 
or  mine,  or  that  of  the  Christians?’  Now,  Saladin  had 
it  in  mind  that  if  the  Jew  should  praise  his  own  re- 
ligion he  would  say,  ‘You  are  insulting  mine,’  and  in 
like  manner,  if  the  Jew  should  praise  the  Christian 
religion,  and  if  he  should  give  blame  to  his  own,  he 
(Saladin)  would  hold  him  a traitor  to  Judaism,  and 
thus  in  any  case  determined  to  deprive  him  of  his 
money.  Ansalon  wisely  replied,  ‘The  answer  must  be 
the  same  as  that  of  the  rich  nobleman  who  had  a 
valuable  ring,  and  being  at  the  point  of  death,  each 
of  his  three  sons  desiring  to  have  it,  secretly  begged 
it  of  him.  The  father  was  minded  to  give  it  to  the 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


101 


oldest,  but  the  others,  by  their  deceptive  words  and 
by  putting  before  him  their  reasons  why  they  should 
have  the  ring,  tried  to  persuade  him  to  give  it  to  them, 
and  he  was  unable  to  give  them  denial.  He  accord- 
ingly had  two  other  rings  made  exactly  resembling 
the  true  one,  but  of  no  value,  and  had  them  placed 
in  two  boxes  exactly  alike,  and  calling  his  sons  before 
him  he  gave  to  each  one  separately  a ring,  so  that 
each  believed  he  had  received  the  true  ring,  but  only 
one  had  it,  and  this  one  was  designated  his  heir. 

In  like  manner  there  are  three  notable  Faiths,  the 
one  yours,  another  mine,  the  third  that  of  the  Chris- 
tians. One  is  the  real  one  and  the  others  are  naught ; 
which  is  which  I do  not  know,  but  the  adherents  of 
each  of  these  three  religions  believes  his  to  be  the  only 
true  one,  as  the  three  sons  each  believed  he  possessed 
the  true  ring.’ 

Saladin,  hearing  this,  changed  his  mind  and  released 
the  Jew.” 

Attention  might  here  be  called  to  the  allegory  in 
Swift’s  “Tale  of  a Tub”,  wherein  the  incident  of  a 
father  presenting  each  of  his  three  sons  with  a new 
coat  is  plainly  a satire  on  the  Church  of  Rome,  Pro- 
testantism and  Dissenters,  without  any  reference  to 
the  truth  of  any  particular  religion. 

It  will  be  perceived  that  Busone’s  narrative  is  sub- 
stantially identical  with  the  one  in  the  Novelle,  which 
he  embellishes  here  and  there  not  without  offense  to 
good  taste.  All  things  considered,  the  form  in  which 
we  find  it  in  the  “Decameron”  appears  to  be  the  most 
acceptable.  In  the  “Novelle”,  it  is  very  curtly  stated 


102 


INTRODUCTION 


that  the  Sultan  was  in  financial  difficulties,  whereas, 
in  Busone’s  version,  money  is  needed  for  war  against 
the  Christians.  In  Boccaccio,  the  emptiness  of  the 
treasury  is  due  to  his  love  of  luxury  and  campaigns, 
but  it  is  not  clearly  indicated  for  what  purpose  he  has 
further  need  of  funds.  In  the  “Novelle”,  no  attempt 
is  made  to  excuse  the  plunder  of  the  Jew,  while  Bu- 
sone  mentions  the  fact  that  the  Jews  are  everywhere 
despised,  which  furnishes  a motive.  Boccaccio  is  too 
tolerant  to  make  use  of  this  motive  and  pictures  the 
Jew,  Melchizedek,  as  a miserly  usurer,  in  order  to 
exonerate  the  Sultan  for  his  design.  In  the  “Novelle”, 
the  person  of  the  Jew  is  of  no  consequence.  He 
serves  merely  as  an  incident  in  the  recital.  In  Busone 
and  Boccaccio,  on  the  other  hand,  one  is  subtly  pre- 
judiced against  him,  to  justify  the  Sultan’s  crafty  pro- 
cedure. In  the  “Novelle”,  the  Jew  is  confronted 
with  the  embarrassing  alternative  of  choosing  between 
the  Jewish  and  Mohammedan  religions;  although  a 
general  query  as  to  which  religion  is  the  best  is  pro- 
pounded by  the  monarch.  It  is  notable  that  in  his 
answer  the  Jew  mentions  also  the  Christian  religion. 
In  one  edition,  he  says:  “I  say  the  same  of  all  three 
religions.  Our  heavenly  Father  knows  which  is  the 
best.  The  sons,  that  is  to  say,  we,  believe  that  each 
of  us  possesses  the  best.”  In  another  version,  both 
in  the  printed  and  manucript  copies,  he  is  credited 
with  saying:  “This  much  I will  say,  gracious  master, 
that  I know  it  not  either  and,  therefore,  cannot  tell 
you.”  The  presentation  in  the  “Novelle”  is  much 
more  probable  than  that  in  Busone  and  Boccaccio, 


PARABLE  QF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


103 


where  the  Sultan  asks  the  Jew  which  of  the  three 
religions  is  the  best.  The  “Novelle”  speaks  only  of  the 
Sultan  and  does  not  mention  the  Jew  by  name,  where- 
as in  the  other  two  accounts,  the  Sultan  of  Babylon 
and  Jews  with  biblical  names  are  specifically  indicated. 
The  former  uses  the  word  “faith” ; the  latter  the  word 
“law”,  for  religion.  In  the  former,  the  Jew  applies 
his  parable  to  the  three  religions  by  inference  only; 
while,  in  the  latter,  he  makes  his  point  clearly  and 
distinctively. 

It  is  interesting  to  note,  in  passing,  that  in  the 
“Novelle”  the  story  runs  to  230  words ; in  Busone 
to  100  more ; and  in  the  “Decameron”,  it  is  expanded 
to  740. 

A very  curious  tale,  somewhat  analogous  to  our 
parable,  exemplifying  Saladin’s  indecision  in  matters 
of  religion,  may  be  read  in  Jans  Enenkel’s  Weltbuch 
(1190- 1251),  quoted  by  Landau  and  by  A.  C.  Lee, 
in  his  exhaustive  study  on  “The  Decameron : its  Sources 
and  Analogues”  (London,  1909),  to  both  of  whom 
we  are  indebted  for  much  valuable  information  as  to 
parallels.  This  mediaeval  chronicler  relates  that 
Saladin,  having  almost  impoverished  himself  by  his 
generosity  [a  trait  strikingly  brought  out  in  the  Less- 
ing drama],  became  dangerously  ill.  On  being  told 
by  his  physicians  that  he  could  not  live,  he  became 
very  sorrowful  and  anxious  for  his  soul.  He  thought 
if  he  embraced  Mohammedanism  he  would  be  scorning 
Christianity,  the  faith  of  the  people  who  held  their 
God  as  the  most  powerful,  whilst  at  the  same  time 
the  Jews  thought  the  same  of  their  God.  Finally,  he 


104 


INTRODUCTION 


decided  to  give  his  soul  to  the  Deity  that  would  af- 
ford him  the  greatest  protection.  He  had  also  a most 
valuable  table,  made  of  a large  sapphire,  which  he 
desired  to  dispose  of  in  the  same  way,  but  as  he  was 
unable  to  arrive  at  a decision  on  the  point,  he  had  the 
table  divided  into  three  parts  and  bequeathed  a part 
to  each  of  the  three  Churches — the  Christian,  the  Mo- 
hammedan and  the  Jewish — saying:  “the  one  that  is 
the  most  powerful  will  assist  me.” 

An  exclusively  Christian  coloring  is  given  to  a sim- 
ilar parable,  to  be  found  in  the  eighty-ninth  chapter 
of  the  celebrated  collection  of  monkish  tales,  entitled 
Gesta  Romanorum,  dating  presumably,  from  the  first 
half  of  the  thirteenth  century,  although  they  did  not 
receive  their  present  form  until  two  hundred  years 
later. 

It  is  here  recorded  that  a Knight  had  three  sons, 
to  the  oldest  of  whom  he  left  his  estate,  while  the 
second  received  a treasure  and  the  third  a costly  ring, 
exceeding  all  the  others  in  value.  He  gave  to  each 
of  the  two  older  sons  two  rings  similar  to  the  genuine 
original.  Upon  the  father’s  death,  the  sons  began  to 
quarrel  over  the  genuineness  of  the  rings.  In  order 
to  ascertain  which  was  the  original  gift,  each  decided 
to  put  its  power  to  the  test.  The  results  showed  that 
the  ring  of  the  youngest  son  had  the  art  of  curing  all 
diseases,  whereas  those  of  the  older  brothers  posses- 
sed no  magical  properties.  The  moral  appended  to 
this  tale  is  thus  expounded:  “The  judge  is  God;  the 
estate  of  the  oldest  son  is  the  Holy  Land,  which  the 
Jews  possess;  the  second  son’s  treasure  represents  the 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


105 


temporal  glory  of  the  Saracens;  but  the  ring  of  the 
youngest  son  is  the  Christian  religion,  which  can  heal 
all  diseases  and  move  mountains.” 

It  is  now  generally  accepted  that  the  oldest  Chris- 
tian source  of  the  parable  is  found  in  the  work  of 
Etienne  de  Bourbon,  a Dominican  monk,  who  died 
about  1261,  entitled  “The  Seven  Gifts  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.” 

“I  have  heard”,  he  says,  “from  a wise  man  this 
example  of  the  demonstration  of  the  true  faith.  A 
rich  man  had  a ring  in  which  was  set  a precious  stone 
that  had  the  virtue  of  curing  all  maladies.  He  had 
a wife  who  had  given  him  one  legitimate  daughter. 
Later  on,  ‘corrupta  a leonibus she  gave  birth  to 
several  others  that  passed  for  legitimate  children  with- 
out being  so.  He,  however,  was  not  ignorant  of  the 
truth,  and  dying  left  a will  bequeathing  the  ring  to 
his  legitimate  daughter  and  his  property  to  her  who 
should  have  this  ring.  Calling  his  daughter  to  him, 
he  gave  her  this  ring  and  died.  The  other  children, 
knowing  this,  had  similar  rings  made.  When  the  will 
was  opened  before  the  judge,  each  one  showed  her 
ring  and  claimed  to  be  the  legitimate  daughter,  but 
the  judge  being  a wise  man,  caused  the  healing  quali- 
ties of  the  ring  to  be  tested,  and  finding  none  in  two 
of  them,  awarded  the  inheritance  to  the  daughter 
whose  ring  had  proved  itself  to  be  the  true  one.  It 
is  to  be  inferred  from  this  narrative  that  it  is  the 
Christian  religion  that  is  symbolized  by  the  true  ring, 
although  no  actual  reference  is  made  to  the  different 
religions. 


106 


INTRODUCTION 


An  almost  contemporaneous  variant  i3  the  French 
poem  Li  dis  dou  vrai  aniel  (elsewhere  styled,  Dit  du 
vrai  anneau),  composed  somewhere  between  1270  and 
1299,  and  edited  by  Adolph  Tobler,  from  a Paris  MS., 
in  1871. 

Here  the  story  is  of  a valiant  and  good  man  who 
lived  in  Egypt  and  had  three  sons,  the  two  oldest  of 
dissolute  life,  the  youngest  being  a saintly  man.  This 
father  had  a ring  which  had  the  art  of  healing  all 
disease  and  of  restoring  the  dead  to  life.  He  had  two 
other  rings  made  by  a jeweler  exactly  like  the  first 
one.  On  his  death-bed  he  gives  a ring  to  each  of  his 
sons,  the  true  one  to  the  youngest,  to  whom  he  re- 
vealed its  secret  powers.  On  the  father’s  demise  each 
son  claimed  to  be  in  possession  of  the  true  ring,  which, 
however,  on  their  being  put  to  the  proof,  is  found  to 
be  in  the  keeping  of  the  youngest  son. 

The  author  of  this  notable  version,  which  presents 
so  striking  a resemblance  to  the  original  of  the  Italian 
novelists,  shows  in  conclusion  that  the  three  rings  are 
symbolical  of  the  Christian,  Mohammedan  and  Jew- 
ish religions,  the  first  being  the  only  true  one. 

It  is  quite  evident  that  both  of  these  accounts  are 
derived  from  a common  source,  namely  the  Gesta 
Romanorum,  the  authorship  of  which,  though  still 
obscure,  is  generally  accredited  to  a Benedictine  prior, 
Petrus  Berchorius,  who  died  at  Paris,  1362. 

In  the  long  list  of  analogues,  we  find,  in  the  Arabian 
Nights,  the  story  of  the  Sultan  who  had  a ring,  which 
was  regarded  as  the  symbol  of  the  caliphate.  When 
his  brother  demanded  it,  Haroun  al  Rashid,  the  mon- 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


107 


arch  in  question,  cast  it  into  the  Tigris.  Upon  the 
brother’s  death,  the  monarch  threw  a leaden  ring  into 
the  river,  and  the  divers  brought  the  genuine  original 
back  to  him. 

A legend  identical  in  some  respects  with  our  own, 
is  said  to  be  found  in  an  Arabic  work  of  the  early 
Middle  Ages,  entitled  Nuzhetol-Udeba.  The  germ  of 
the  parable  is  also  contained  in  Thaalabi’s  Arabic 
History  of  the  Persian  Kings,  composed  about  1017- 
22.  A Persian  king  gives  to  each  of  his  three  favor- 
ite slaves  a costly  ring,  by  means  of  which  they  are 
to  recognize  which  of  them  he  loves  the  most.  This, 
however,  presents  merely  a curious  variant,  and  it  is 
possible  that  the  author  suppressed  the  natural  ap- 
plication which  we  have  in  the  accepted  versions. 

In  the  first-named  Oriental  parallel,  it  is  related 
that  a Christian,  a Mohammedan  and  a Jew,  who 
traveled  together,  found  a small  loaf  of  bread,  which 
scarcely  sufficed  for  any  one  of  them.  They  decided 
that  it  should  belong  to  him  who  would  have  the  most 
singular  dream.  The  Mohammedan  dreams  that  he 
is  in  heaven,  the  Christian  that  he  is  in  hell,  and  the 
Jew  very  properly  eats  the  bread  while  the  other 
two  are  asleep.  This  curious  narrative  is  likewise 
borrowed  from  the  Gesta  Romanorum  and  has  its 
counterpart  in  a story  in  the  Disciplina  Clericalis,  or 
“A  Training  School  for  the  Clergy”,  one  of  the  most 
popular  collection  of  tales  of  the  Middle  Ages,  com- 
posed by  Petrus  Alfonsi  (1062  to  mo),  physician- 
in-ordinary  to  King  Alfonso  of  Castile,  who  embraced 
Christianity  in  his  forty-fifth  year  and  whose  work 
is  a rich  mine  for  all  students  of  folklore. 


108 


INTRODUCTION 


It  is  clear  that  Boccaccio  intended  his  account  to 
be  a satire  against  the  monkish  order,  about  whose 
doings  he,  more  than  any  of  his  predecessors,  has 
written  with  keen  relish  and  irresistible  humor.  Bu- 
sone  tells,  in  one  of  his  stories,  that  Saladin,  in  the 
course  of  his  journey  through  Europe,  visited  Rome 
and  when  he  perceived  the  vices  of  the  high  digni- 
taries of  the  church,  he  said: 

“The  priests  do  exactly  what  they  should  not  do, 
and  avarice  has  become  second  nature  to  them.  But 
the  offenses  and  crimes  of  the  Pope,  the  Cardinals 
and  the  Roman  courtiers  prove  to  me  conclusively 
that  the  Christian  religion  is  the  best  of  all,  for  the 
Supreme  Being  who  can  tolerate  such  insults  is  as- 
suredly the  most  gracious  and  compassionate.  I clear- 
ly perceive  that  the  God  of  the  Christians  is  undoubt- 
edly the  kindest  and  most  long-suffering,  for  another 
God  would  not  permit  such  actions  on  the  part  of  his 
followers.  It,  therefore,  appears  that  Christianity  is 
the  best  of  all  religions.” 

Boccaccio  makes  of  this  short  anecdote  one  of  the 
best  novels  of  his  whole  collection.  With  wonderful 
skill  Busone’s  narrative  is  shorn  of  its  blasphemy, 
only  to  make  the  charge  against  the  clergy  all  the 
more  caustic  and  irrefutable.  He  depicts  the  Jew 
as  an  honest  and  pious  creature,  in  order  to  convince 
us  of  the  sincerity  of  his  naive  conclusion.  That  he 
makes  the  Jew,  instead  of  Saladin,  the  teller  of  the 
story  has  a very  beneficial  effect.  Although  the  fable 
of  the  Sultan’s  journey  through  Europe  was  uni- 
versally credited  in  the  fourteenth  century,  it  should 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


109 


be  noted  that  more  than  a hundred  years  had  elapsed 
since  the  monarch’s  death.  Boccaccio,  however,  whose 
purpose  was  to  chastise  the  corrupt  clergy  of  his  day, 
could  not  very  well  set  back  his  story  and  was  ob- 
liged to  parade  Saladin  as  a leading  figure.  Had  he 
simply  substituted  a Mohammedan,  his  narrative 
would  not  have  had  the  interest  and  probability  that 
it  has  in  its  present  form,  for  it  speaks  of  a Jew 
with  whom  the  Italians  of  his  time  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  coming  into  daily  contact. 

It  may  be  mentioned  that  Benvenuto  Rambaldi  of 
Imola,  in  his  Commentary  to  Dante’s  “Divine 
Comedy”,  mentions  the  parable,  suggesting  the  in- 
ference that  he  and  Boccaccio  derived  it  from  a com- 
mon source.  However,  Rambaldi  was  Boccaccio’s 
pupil,  so  that  it  is  quite  natural  to  suppose  that  he 
was  familiar  with  his  master’s  work,  as  indeed  is  ap- 
parent from  the  use  he  makes  of  other  stories  in  the 
“Decameron”. 

The  tale  has  passed  into  other  Italian,  French  and 
German  collections  of  a later  date,  notably  facetiae, 
a number  of  which  are  mentioned  in  some  detail  by 
Lee,  in  his  painstaking  work  on  the  Decameron  (Lon- 
don, 1909).  The  bibliography  on  the  subject  is  so 
extensive  as  to  require  a separate  investigation. 

In  a note  to  the  English  translation  of  the  “De- 
cameron”, reference  is  made  to  an  anonymous  work, 
of  the  authorship  of  which  Boccaccio  has  been  ac- 
cused, entitled,  De  Tribus  Impostoribus,  composed  in 
the  sixteenth  century,  frequently  published,  concern- 
ing which  there  has  been  much  controversy.  There, 


110 


INTRODUCTION 


as  in  numerous  similar  controversial  works,  notably 
in  Jean  Bodin’s  very  remarkable  Colloquium  hepta- 
plomeres  (XVIc),  where  the  Jew  is  given  preferen- 
tial treatment,  in  a discussion  with  six  other  person- 
ages of  various  faiths,  the  three  religions  are  com- 
pared, but  it  is  not  stated  whether  the  parable  is  men- 
tioned. The  great  Jewish  bibliographer,  Moritz 
Steinschneider,  has  written  a very  exhaustive  treatise 
on  the  “Polemic  and  Apologetic  Literature  in  the 
Arabic  language  between  Moslems,  Christians  and 
Jews”,  based,  primarily,  on  manuscript  sources,  and 
published  in  Leipsic,  1877,  which  gives  a complete 
analysis  of  the  whole  subject  of  controversy  between 
the  three  leading  religions.  It  is  a work  of  stupend- 
ous industry,  covering  470  pages,  which  should  be 
studied  in  connection  with  our  theme. 

The  editor’s  note,  in  the  English  version  of  Boc- 
caccio, further  states  that  this  particular  novel  prob- 
ably originated  in  some  rabbinical  tradition.  That 
his  surmise  is  correct  will  be  proven  in  the  sequel. 

It  is  not  generally  known  that  there  are  two  singu- 
larly close  parallels  to  our  story,  in  Jewish  literature. 
The  first  account  is  taken  from  a work  by  Solomon 
Ibn  Verga,  a Spanish  historian  and  physician,  who 
lived  in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries,  and 
whose  Shebet  Yehudah  contains  an  account  of  sixty- 
four  persecutions  of  the  Jews  and  narrates  many  re- 
ligious disputations.  It  was  first  printed  in  Turkey 
about  1550  and  has  been  translated  into  several  mod- 
ern languages.  While  the  historical  value  of  the  data 
contained  in  his  book  has  been  seriously  questioned 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


111 


by  scholars,  and  it  is  assumed  that  the  account  of  some 
of  the  controversies  he  gives  is  fictitious,  there  are 
valuable  traditions  preserved  in  it  which  make  it  of 
prime  importance  to  students  of  history  and  folklore. 
The  author  knew  Latin  and  derived  much  of  his  ma- 
terial from  secular  sources.  It  is  quite  conceivable 
that  the  story  he  tells  was  current  in  his  day  and 
may  with  propriety  be  credited  as  dating  from  the 
early  part  of  the  twelfth  century. 

As  it  presents  a somewhat  novel  setting  and  brings 
before  us  another  enlightened  monarch,  whose  broad 
tolerance  in  matters  of  religion  is  worth  noting,  we 
feel  justified  in  giving  the  passages  which  directly  in- 
terest us  in  full,  especially  since  the  text  is  not  readily 
accessible  to  the  ordinary  reader: — 

A disputation  once  took  place  between  King  Don 
Pedro,  the  Elder,  and  Nicholas  the  Wise,  of  Valencia. 
The  latter  said : “I  understand,  Sire,  that  it  is  thy 

gracious  will  to  proceed  against  the  infidel,  who  are 
thine  enemies.  But,  why  does  our  monarch  war 
against  foes  from  without  and  neglect  measures  against 
those  within,  namely,  the  Jews,  whose  hatred  toward 
us  is  so  intense  that  it  is  enjoined  in  their  Scriptures 
that  they  may  not  even  greet  us?*  I have  heard  from 
one  who  knew  this  people  well  that  when  a Jew  meets 
a Christian,  he  exclaims:  ‘I  salute  thee,  my  Lord; 

may  God  protect  thee !’  But,  upon  leaving  him,  he 
utters  imprecations  against  him.” 


*Many  statements  may  be  adduced  from  the  Rabbinical 
writings  to  prove  the  falsity  of  these  malicious  charges. 
Suffice  it  to  refer  to  a passage  in  the  Mishnah,  Abot  4,  20, 
where  it  is  distinctly  said  that  one  is  obliged  to  give  a 
friendly  salutation  to  every  man. 


112 


INTRODUCTION 


“Hast  thou  heard  this  with  thine  own  ears?”  de- 
manded the  King. 

“Verily,”  rejoined  Nicholas.  “I  have  this  from 
the  mouth  of  one  who  came  over  to  our  faith.” 

The  King:  “One  who  changes  his  religion  cannot 

be  believed,  for  it  is  an  easy  matter  for  him  to  change 
his  words  as  well.  Furthermore,  the  hatred  which  is 
expressed,  by  reason  of  a difference  in  faith,  is  im- 
material, inasmuch  as  only  the  love  for  one’s  own  is 
intended  to  be  emphasized.” 

Nicholas : “Nothing  angers  me  more  than  the  in- 

solence of  those  who  have  the  temerity  to  cast  into 
thy  face  the  charge  that  thy  religious  convictions  are 
false.” 

The  King:  “Well  then,  let  a Jewish  sage  be  sum- 

moned, whom  we  shall  question.” 

When  the  Jew  was  brought  into  his  presence,  asked 
the  King:  “What  is  thy  name?” 

“Ephraim  ben  Sancho,”  answered  the  Jew. 

“It  appears  that  thou  hast  two  distinct  names. 
Ephraim  stamps  thee  a Jew  and  Sancho  a Christian.” 
Thereupon  rejoined  the  Jew:  “My  Lord  and  Sire, 
Sancho  is  my  family  name.” 

“Did  I desire  kinship  with  thee,  that  thou  givest 
me  thy  family  name?”  said  the  King. 

The  Jew : “My  Lord  and  King,  I merely  added 

Sancho  as  a means  of  identification,  since  there  are 
many  here  who  bear  the  name  of  Ephraim,  and  it 
seemed  that  it  was  the  wish  of  my  Lord  and  King 
to  know  who  I was,  in  that  he  has  graciously  inquired 
after  my  name.” 

“Let  us  dismiss  the  subject!”  said  the  King.  “Thou 
hast  been  brought  into  my  presence  to  furnish  testi- 
mony as  to  which  of  the  two  religions  be  the  better, 
the  Christian  or  thine  own.” 

The  sage  replied : “My  religion  is  better  for  me,  in 
view  of  my  present  circumstances,  since  I was  once 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


113 


a slave  in  Egypt,  and  the  Almighty  hath  rescued  me 
by  signs  and  miracles.  Thy  religion,  however,  is  bet- 
ter for  thee,  since  it  is  the  dominant  one.” 

“But  I am  concerned  chiefly  with  the  religions 
themselves  and  not  with  their  professors,”  answered 
the  King. 

“By  the  King’s  gracious  leave,  I will  deliberate 
upon  this  problem  three  days  and  will  then  render 
decision,”  replied  the  Jew. 

The  King  granted  this,  and,  at  the  expiration  of 
the  time,  the  sage  returned,  but  seemed  to  be  restive 
and  downcast.  To  the  monarch’s  query:  “Why  art 

thou  so  dispirited?”  he  replied: 

“They  have  scorned  me  to-day,  without  cause,  since 
I have  committed  no  wrong,  and  it  now  rests  with 
thee,  Sire,  to  probe  into  the  matter.  A month  ago, 
one  of  my  neighbors  went  on  a journey,  leaving  a 
precious  stone  to  each  of  his  two  sons,  as  a parting 
gift,  and  now  the  brothers  appealed  to  me  to  explain 
to  them  the  peculiar  properties  of  these  jewels  and 
to  tell  them  wherein  each  differs  from  the  other.  When 
I declared  that  no  one  could  know  their  value  better 
than  their  own  father,  since  he  is  an  expert  appraiser 
of  such  treasures,  being  a jeweller,  and  that  it  is  to 
him  that  they  should  turn  for  counsel,  they  smote  me 
savagely  and  ridiculed  me  for  my  advice.” 

“They  have  certainly  done  wrong,”  replied  the  King, 
“and  they  deserve  to  be  punished.” 

“So  may  thine  own  ears,  O Sire,  accept  what 
Thy  mouth  hath  expressed.  Behold,  Esau  and  Jacob 
are  also  brothers,  to  each  of  whom  was  bequeathed 
a precious  stone,  and  now,  our  gracious  monarch  de- 
mands which  is  the  better.  May  it  please  him  to  dis- 
patch a messenger  to  our  Father  in  Heaven,  for  He 
is  the  greatest  jeweler  and  He  alone  can  judge  the 
difference  in  the  stones.” 

“Perceivest  thou,  O Nicholas,  the  cleverness  of 


114 


INTRODUCTION 


the  Jews?”  exclaimed  the  King.  “Verily,  such  a sage 
deserves  to  be  laden  with  gifts  and  to  be  honored  in 
a high  degree.  As  for  thee,  thou  must  suffer  penalty 
for  giving  false  testimony  against  the  Jewish  race.” 

“Be  that  as  it  may,”  said  Nicholas,  “it  has  always 
been  the  custom  of  our  sacred  monarchs  to  make  all 
religions  subordinate  to  their  own.  Wherefore  actest 
thou  differently?” 

“Never  have  I seen  a thing  succeed  through  force,” 
rejoined  the  King,  “for,  just  as  soon  as  pressure  re- 
laxes, it  reverts  to  its  former  condition,  just  as  a 
stone  which  is  thrown  into  the  air  necessarily  falls 

back  to  earth Therefore,  I counsel 

thee,  use  no  force  with  this  people.  Perhaps,  thou 
mayest  be  able  to  achieve  something  with  them  by 
patient  teaching  and  constant  admonition,  for,  if  the 
drop  of  water  makes  an  impression  upon  the  hardest 
marble,  how  much  deeper  impression  can  the  gentle 
tongue  make  upon  the  soft  heart  of  flesh !” 

As  Pedro  of  Aragon  reigned  from  1094  to  1104, 
the  date  of  its  composition,  if  the  authenticity  of  the 
episode  is  to  be  unquestioned,  is  definitely  determined. 
In  this  narrative,  too,  it  is  again  a Jew  who  cleverly 
eludes  the  trap  so  adroitly  laid  for  him  by  his  royal 
master.  It  is  a significant  circumstance  and  goes 
far  to  prove  the  contention  of  some  writers,  that  even 
if  the  actual  occurrence  did  not  take  place,  the  parable 
must  have  originated  among  the  Jews,  or  else  the  Jew 
would  not  so  persistently  played  so  wise  and  important 
a role.  It  is  further  argued  that  if  the  other  versions, 
in  which  a Mohammedan  is  the  questioner,  were  older, 
the  later  Jewish  sources  would  not  have  made  him 
a Christian  prince;  whereas,  in  the  Christian  variants 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


115 


of  the  story,  it  is  quite  natural  to  find  a Saracen,  in 
place  of  a Christian,  taking  the  leading  part. 

The  legend  was  undoubtedly  extensively  circulated 
among  the  Jews  at  a very  early  period,  even  though 
it  may  not  have  appeared  in  the  form  in  which  we 
find  it  in  Ibn  Verga’s  work.  As  Busone  was  a friend 
of  the  noted  Jewish  poet  Manoello,  who  was  also 
acquainted  with  Dante,  it  seems  plausible  to  assume 
that  it  is  from  him  that  the  Italian  romancer  received 
the  tradition,  which  directly  influenced  Boccaccio  and, 
incidentally,  other  writers. 

Dr.  M.  Wiener,  the  editor  of  the  Shebet  Yehudah, 
in  a separate  article  on  the  origin  of  the  parable, 
maintains  that  the  Hebrew  version  is  the  oldest,  in 
point  of  historical  correctness,  and  that  it  is  ethically 
the  most  valuable  of  all  analogues.  The  same  claim 
is  made  by  a French  writer,  Gaston  Paris,  in  an 
elaborate  essay  on  the  subject,  and,  as  he  is  an  eminent 
folklorist,  his  conclusions  should  carry  considerable 
weight. 

The  second  Hebrew  parallel  is  equally  remarkable 
and  distinctive.  It  is  to  be  found  in  an  unpublished 
work  from  the  pen  of  the  celebrated  mystic,  Abraham 
Abulafia  (1240  to  about  1291),  entitled  Or  ha-Sekel, 
or  “The  Light  of  Reason”.  In  arguing  the  superiority 
of  Israel  as  a nation,  he  applies  the  following  parable : 

“There  was  a man  who  had  in  his  possession  a 
costly  pearl  which  he  desired  to  bequeath  to  his  son. 
He,  therefore,  taught  him  the  uses  of  wealth,  so  that 
he  would  be  able  to  recognize  the  value  of  this  pearl 
and  esteem  it  as  great  a treasure  as  his  father.  While 


116 


INTRODUCTION 


engaged  in  demonstrating  this,  the  son  provoked  his 
father.  What  did  the  father  do?  He  did  not  wish 
to  hand  the  pearl  over  to  another  man  lest  his  son 
lose  his  inheritance,  in  case  he  repented  and  became 
reconciled  to  him;  he,  therefore,  threw  it  into  a cis- 
tern, for,  argued  he,  ‘Should  my  son  not  repent,  I 
would  not  have  him  inherit  it ; but  should  he  repent, 
I would  not  have  him  lose  it ; hence,  while  he  re- 
mains unrepentant,  let  it  be  hidden  away  in  my  cis- 
tern ; but  as  soon  as  he  recants,  I will  immediately 
fetch  it  for  him.’ 

Now,  during  the  whole  time  that  the  son  remained 
obdurate,  the  father’s  slaves  came  to  him,  day  after 
day,  and  taunted  him,  each  boasting  that  the  master 
had  given  him  the  pearl.  But  the  son,  from  lack  of 
prudence,  gave  no  heed.  After  a while,  however,  they 
aroused  him  to  such  a point  that  he  repented,  where- 
upon his  father  forgave  him  and  brought  up  the  pearl 
out  of  the  cistern  and  presented  it  to  his  son.  When 
the  slaves  saw  this,  they  at  once  fell  upon  their  faces 
and  were  ashamed  of  their  lies  before  the  son,  being 
hard  put  to  in  obtaining  his  pardon. 

Even  so  did  it  transpire  with  us  respecting  the 
nations  that  tell  us  that  God  had  substituted  them 
for  us.  For,  so  long  as  we  fail  to  conciliate  God  in 
the  things  wherein  we  have  sinned  against  him,  we 
have  no  answer  to  give  them;  but  when  we  repent 
and  He  restores  our  captivity,  those  that  seek  to  shame 
us  will  themselves  be  put  to  shame.  But  because  we 
to-day  have  not  as  yet  reached  the  high  estate  which 
we  hope  some  day  to  attain,  the  dispute  continues. 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


117 


To  whom  does  the  jewel  of  truth  belong;  to  us  or  to 
our  adversaries  ? Until  the  Arbiter  comes  and  lifts 
the  pearl  out  of  the  pit  and  restores  it  to  His  son; 
and  then  the  truth  will  be  made  clear,  and  the  treasure 
will  be  surrendered  to  its  rightful  owners,  called  the 
People  of  God;  then  jealousy  and  strife  will  cease 
and  each  member  of  the  human  race  will 
realize  the  universal  brotherhood  of  man.” 

We  have  here  an  apologetic  form  of  the  classical 
story,  held  to  be  the  oldest-known  parallel  by  Stein- 
schneider  and  other  investigators.  In  the  epilogue, 
it  is  inferred  that  the  repentant  son  is  Israel  and  the 
servants  are  Christians  and  Moslems.  The  other 
Hebrew  account  is  of  a later  date. 

Professor  Victor  Chauvin,  the  Belgian  orientalist, 
who  resides  in  the  ill-fated  city  of  Liege,  ventures 
to  ask:  “whether  this  miserable  anecdote,  as  badly  in- 
vented as  told,  has  even  a shadow  of  resemblance  to 
the  parable  of  the  three  rings.  To  assume  that  it  has, 
is  to  ignore  the  conspicuous  fact  that  without  the  an- 
tithesis of  the  true  ring  and  the  false,  there  can  be  no 
parable.”  Inasmuch  as  he  had  discovered  what  he 
calls  the  germ  of  the  parable  in  Thaalabi’s  Arabic  “His- 
tory of  the  Persian  Kings”,  written  in  the  eleventh 
century,  where  the  author  speaks  of  three  genuine 
rings,  without  any  antithesis  or  application  to  religion 
at  all,  the  story  given  in  Abulafia’s  narrative,  which 
tells  of  one  treasure  and  of  three  religions — the  two 
rejected  pretenders  having  not  the  slightest  claim  to 
recognition — affords  a far  more  striking  parallel  than 
his  own.  The  Hebrew  author’s  version  furnishes  an 


118 


INTRODUCTION 


older  phase  of  the  simile,  and  his  presentation  is  not 
irrational,  if  one  studies  it  closely.  To  be  sure,  Abu- 
lafia,  who  flourished  about  1290,  was  a fanatical  Cab- 
balist,  who  had  presumed  to  convert  the  Pope  and 
had  just  managed  to  escape  with  his  life.  His  story 
properly  belongs  in  the  realm  of  polemics  and  takes 
its  place  in  the  history  of  controversy  between  the 
three  religions. 

It  might  be  said,  in  conclusion,  that  the  argument 
that  all  the  three  rings  are  genuine  and  its  applica- 
tion to  the  three  dominant  religions  is  probably  a pro- 
duct of  the  Crusades,  and  the  meaning  of  the  parable 
is  to  be  sought  only  in  that  application  and  not  in  the 
trick  of  illusion,  which  may  be  a very  old  element  in 
folklore. 

The  quaint  story  recorded  in  an  old  Hebrew  pole- 
mical work  against  Christianity,  entitled  Nizsahon 
(Victory),  generally  supposed  to  have  been  written 
by  a German,  in  the  thirteenth  century,  at  a time  when 
the  Tartars  played  an  important  role  and  Palestine 
was  still  the  scene  of  bloody  battles,  is  of  interest  to 
us  as  showing  that  the  idea  of  comparing  the  three 
religions  became  current  in  Germany  at  so  early  a 
period.  This  work  was  known  to  the  great  humanist 
Reuchlin  and  was  edited,  with  a Latin  translation,  by 
the  Christian-Hebrew  scholar  Wagenseil,  a personal 
friend  of  several  noted  rabbis  of  his  time  (Altdorf 
1681).  As  the  apologue  is  quoted,  as  a remote  par- 
allel, by  no  less  an  authority  than  Steinschneider,  it 
may  here  be  summarized,  especially  as  it  is  not  other- 
wise mentioned  in  any  of  the  numerous  books  and 
monographs  on  the  origin  of  Lessing’s  “Nathan” : 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


119 


“An  emperor  wished  to  ascertain  which  was  the 
most  lofty  and  praiseworthy  of  all  religions,  the  Jew- 
ish, the  Christian  or  the  Mohammedan.  Accordingly, 
he  summoned  a member  of  each  of  these  faiths  and 
had  them  separately  incarcerated.  Then  he  went  to 
each  in  turn  and  endeavored  to  persuade  him  to  change 
his  faith  in  favor  of  either  of  the  others,  under  penalty 
of  immediate  death.  The  first  one  he  appealed  to  was 
the  Jew,  and  he  enjoined  him  to  choose  either  the 
Christian  or  the  Mohammedan  faith,  or  else  he  would 
forthwith  perish. 

The  Jew  replied : ‘Heaven  forbid  that  I should 
forsake  my  God  and  Creator,  my  Rock,  the  living 
God,  the  King  of  the  World,  and  that  I should 
cleave  to  a strange  faith.  Know  that  I would  cheer- 
fully endure  a thousand  deaths,  one  after  the  other, 
and  still  remain  steadfast  for  the  Law  of  our  God 
and  for  the  glorification  of  His  Holy  name.’ 

When  the  emperor  saw  that  he  could  not  prevail 
against  him  and  could  not  move  him  from  his  resolve, 
he  had  him  carried  to  a grave  prepared  for  him,  and 
ordered  the  guard  to  place  his  sharpened  sword  on  his 
neck  to  intimidate  and  distress  him,  but  he  failed  in 
his  design,  for  the  Jew  remained  obdurate.  Seeing  this, 
the  emperor  released  him  and  went  to  the  Christian 
priest,  whom  he  held  prisoner,  and  besought  him,  under 
penalty  of  death,  to  forsake  the  Church  and  to  desig- 
nate whether  he  wished  to  become  a Jew  or  a Moham- 
medan. The  priest  volubly  protested  that  he  preferred 
to  remain  loyal  to  his  creed.  He  wept  and  supplicated 
the  emperor  to  permit  him  to  remain  loyal  to  Christian- 


120 


INTRODUCTION 


ity,  which  is  the  only  truly  exalted  faith,  maintaining 
that  Jesus  had  suffered  martyrdom  to  redeem  him  and 
other  sinners  like  himself,  that  he  might  bring  them 
into  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.  The  emperor,  becom- 
ing enraged,  bade  him  cut  short  his  words  and  come 
to  a rapid  decision,  offering  him  life  if  he  chose  either 
of  the  other  creeds,  but  instant  death  should  he  de- 
cline. When  the  priest  saw  that  the  monarch  was 
determined  to  execute  his  threat,  he  soon  let  it  be 
known  that  he  preferred  life  to  a miserable  death 
and  said:  ‘Since,  Sire,  you  insist  upon  my  change  of 
faith,  I would  far  rather  become  a Jew  than  a Mos- 
lem, for  there  is  neither  benefit  nor  substance  in  the 
Mohammedan  faith,  and  the  Jewish  religion  is  far 
more  exalted.’ 

Thereupon,  the  emperor  left  him  abruptly  and  re- 
paired to  the  Mohammedan,  whom  he  had  caused 
to  be  cast  into  prison,  and  enjoined  him,  as 
he  did  the  others,  to  chose  between  the  Jewish  and 
the  Christian  faiths,  if  he  would  save  his  life.  The 
Mohammedan  became  hysterical,  and,  with  tears 
streaming  from  his  eyes,  pleaded  with  the  emperor 
thus:  ‘Why,  O Sire,  do  you  wish  to  tear  me  from 

my  own  people  and  force  me  to  embrace  an  alien 
faith,  since  mine  is  the  only  true,  pure  and  righteous 
one,  and  no  other  can  be  compared  to  it  in  excellence?’ 
The  emperor,  moved  to  wrath,  ordered  the  execu- 
tioner to  brandish  the  sword,  whereupon  the  terrified 
Arab  implored  respite  until  the  morning,  so  that  he 
might  compose  his  conscience  and  make  his  choice. 
This  the  monarch  granted.  In  the  morning,  he  ex- 


PARABLE  OF  THE  THREE  RINGS 


121 


claimed,  in  a loud  voice:  ‘The  God  of  Abraham,  my 
Father,  is  the  God  of  Ishmael.  Israel  alone  is  the 
perfect  rock.’  He  continued  to  sing  the  praises  of  the 
Jewish  faith,  in  extravagant  terms,  couching  his  pane- 
gyric in  rhymed  prose  and  registering  an  oath  that  he 
was  now  ready  to  become  an  Israelite. 

When  the  emperor  perceived  that  the  Jew  was 
eager  to  go  to  his  death  rather  than  to  abandon  the 
faith  of  his  Fathers,  and  that  both  the  priest  and  the 
Arab  were  willing  to  adopt  the  Jewish  religion,  he 
was  so  impressed,  that  he  forthwith  became  a prose- 
lyte to  Judaism,  together  with  his  Christian  and  Mo- 
hammedan prisoners.” 

This  narrative  is  strongly  reminiscent  of  the  account 
of  the  conversion  of  the  Chazars,  a kingdom  estab- 
lished in  South  Russia  long  before  the  foundation  of 
the  Russian  monarchy  (855),  whose  sovereign,  named 
Bulan,  and  his  people  are  said  to  have  embraced  Juda- 
ism either  in  the  seventh  or  eighth  century.  Bulan 
invited  the  wise  men  of  Israel  to  a conference  to  meet 
the  representatives  of  the  Christian  and  Moslem  faiths 
and  proceeded  to  examine  them  all.  As  each  of  the 
champions  believed  his  religion  to  be  the  best,  Bulan 
separately  questioned  the  Christian  and  the  Moham- 
medan as  to  which  of  the  other  two  religions  they 
considered  the  best.  When  both  gave  preference  to 
that  of  the  Jews,  the  king  perceived  that  this  must  be 
the  true  religion.  He,  therefore,  adopted  it  and  caused 
all  his  people  to  become  Jews  likewise. 

Up  to  within  recent  years,  the  genuineness  of  this 
historic  event,  which  is  substantially  corroborated  by 


122 


INTRODUCTION 


numerous  authorities,  has  been  questioned,  but  the 
discovery  of  important  documents,  held  to  be  authen- 
tic by  scholars,  conclusively  proves  the  accuracy  of 
this  episode,  one  of  the  most  romantic  and  significant 
events  in  Jewish  history.  Undoubtedly,  the  story 
recorded  by  the  German-Hebrew  author  of  the  four- 
teenth century,  is  merely  an  echo  of  the  classical  ac- 
count of  the  conversion  of  King  Bulan  and  the 
Chazars. 

***** 

A great  poet  and  humanist  of  Germany,  Johann 
Gottfried  von  Herder  (1744-1803),  who  once  wrote 
so  appreciatively  of  the  “Spirit  of  Hebrew  Poetry”, 
has  this  to  say  about  Lessing’s  famous  parable: 

“About  a fable  of  three  rings  is  entwined  the  drama- 
tic legend,  a splendid  wreath  of  doctrines  of  the  noblest 
kind,  designed  to  teach  brotherhood  and  racial  and 
religious  tolerance.  In  every  party  strife  and  religious 
dissension ; in  the  most  unusual  situations,  brought 
about  by  destiny,  this  wreath  will  be  woven  by  many 
dififerent  hands.  In  the  end  all  must  heed  the  highest 
mandate  of  a new  destiny:  ‘O  ye  nations,  bear  with 
one  another!  Ye  men  of  various  opinions,  customs 
and  character,  help  one  another;  tolerate  one  another; 
be  human !’  ” 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED 

The  Sultan  Saladin. 

Sittah,  his  Sister. 

Nathan,  a wealthy  Jew  of  Jerusalem. 

Recha,  his  adopted  Daughter. 

Daya,  a Christian  woman  residing  in  the  house  of 
Nathan  as  companion  to  Recha. 

A young  Knight-Templar. 

Al  Hafi,  a Dervish. 

The  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem. 

A Lay  Brother  of  a Convent  in  Jerusalem. 

An  Emir  in  the  service  of  the  Sultan. 
Mamelukes  of  the  Sultan. 


The  Scene  is  at  Jerusalem. 


SRat&ait  &et?  Seife, 


€itt 

SDtamafifdjeS  ©e&id&f, 

in  funf  21  ttf jugen. 


Jntroite,  mm  et  heic  Dii  fane! 

Arvo  Geuivm. 


©Ott 

©otf^ofb  ©p^caim  Seffing. 


1779. 


Facsimile  of  Title-Page  of  the  First  Edition  of  Nathan  the  Wise. 

[The  only  copy  of  the  original  Prospectus,  printed  at  Wolfen- 
btittel,  August  8,  1778,  is  in  possession  of  Herr  Justizrat  Carl 
Robert  Lessing  in  Berlin  ] 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — Entrance-hall  of  Nathan's  house.  Na- 
than just  returned  from  a journey.  Daya 
meeting  him. 

daya.  1 

'Tis  he — ’tis  Nathan ! — God  be  thanked  indeed 
That  now  at  last  you  are  restored  to  us ! 

NATHAN. 

Ay,  Daya,  thanked  be  God — but  why  ‘at  last’  ? 
Did  I then  propose  sooner  to  return ; 

Or  could  I have  come  sooner? — Babylon 
Lies  from  Jerusalem  good  ten  score  leagues 
As  I perforce  have  had  to  shape  my  way, 
Diverging  now  to  right  and  now  to  left; 

And  gathering  in  of  debts  is  no  such  task 
As  specially  promotes  the  trader’s  speed, 

Or  can  be  settled  in  a moment’s  time. 

DAYA. 

Oh  Nathan,  oh  what  misery  the  while 
Might  have  o’ertaken  you!  Your  house 

1Se“  Note  2. 

127 


128 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


NATHAN. 

Took  fire — 

Ay,  that  I have  already  heard;  God  grant 
That  I’ve  already  heard  the  worst  of  it. 

DAYA. 

Well  might  it  have  been  utterly  consumed. 

NATHAN. 

In  that  case,  Daya,  we’d  have  built  ourselves 
A new  one,  and  a better. 

DAYA. 

Ay,  that’s  true; 

But  oh,  our  Recha  was  within  an  ace 
Of  burning  with  it! 

NATHAN. 

Who? — my  Recha?  Nay, 
I had  not  heard  of  that.  In  such  a case, 

I ne’er  had  needed  house.  Within  an  ace 
Of  being  burned  to  death!  Ha!  out  with  it; 
She’s  burned  indeed — confess  she’s  burned  to 
death ; 

Kill  me,  but  torture  me  no  more.  She’s  burned ! 

DAYA. 

If  so,  would  you  have  heard  it  from  my  lips? 

NATHAN. 

Then  why  appal  me  thus?  Oh  Recha  dear; 

Oh  my  own  Recha ! 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


129 


DAYA. 

Recha  yours — your  own? 

NATHAN. 

Oh  may  I never  have  to  wean  my  tongue 
From  calling  her  my  own! 

DAYA. 

Call  you  all  else 

That  you  possess,  your  own  with  no  more  right? 

NATHAN. 

Nought  surely  with  a better  right;  all  else 
That  I possess  hath  been  bestowed  on  me 
By  nature  or  by  chance ; this  prize  alone 
I owe  to  virtue. 


DAYA. 

Nathan,  what  a price 
You  make  me  pay  for  all  your  benefits; 

If  benefits  conferred  for  such  an  end 
Deserve  the  name ! 

NATHAN. 

For  such  an  end  ? — what  end  ? 
DAYA. 

My  conscience  whispers 

NATHAN. 


Hear  me  describe 


Daya,  before  all, 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


DAYA. 

My  conscience,  I repeat 

NATHAN. 

Hear  me  describe  the  dainty  stuff  I bought 

For  you  in  Babylon,  so  rich,  so  choice 

For  Recha’s  self  scarce  bring  I aught  more  rare. 

DAYA. 

What  boots  it,  Nathan,  since  my  conscience  now 
Refuses  any  longer  to  be  hushed. 

NATHAN. 

And  then  I long  to  see  your  ecstasy 
When  you  behold  the  bracelets  and  the  ring, 
The  ear-rings  and  the  chain  I chose  for  you 
As  I passed  through  Damascus. 

DAYA. 

Ay,  just  so, 

’Tis  just  like  you — for  ever  raining  gifts. 

NATHAN. 

Take  freely  as  I give,  and  say  no  more. 

DAYA. 

What — say  no  more? — Who,  Nathan,  doubts 
That  you  are  generosity  and  honor’s  self ; 

And  yet 


NATHAN. 

I’m  nothing  better  than  a Jew; 
That’s  what  you  mean  to  say. 


Sc.  i. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


131. 


DAYA. 

Nay,  what  I mean 

You  know  full  well 


NATHAN. 

No  more  of  it. 


DAYA. 

Well  then, 

Whate’er  you  do  that’s  penal  before  God, 

And  I can  neither  alter  nor  prevent, 

Be  it  upon  your  head. 

NATHAN. 

E’en  be  it  so. 

But,  Daya,  where  is  she;  where  lingers  she? 
Oh,  if  you  have  deceived  me ! Knows  she  yet 
That  I am  come  ? 

DAYA. 

How  can  you  ask  me  this? 
As  yet  she  quivers  in  her  every  nerve ; 

As  yet  her  fancy  pictures  fire  alone 
In  every  image  of  her  brain ; in  sleep 
Her  spirit  wakes,  and  when  she  wakes  it  sleeps ; 
At  times  she  seems  less  than  a sentient  thing, 
Anon  more  than  an  angel. 


NATHAN. 

How  frail  a thing  is  man  ! 


Ah,  poor  child. 


DAYA. 

This  morn  she  lay 

Long  with  her  eyelids  closed  and  seemed  as  dead; 


132 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


Sudden  she  started  up  and  cried,  ‘Hark,  hark! 

I hear  the  camels  of  my  father’s  train, 

Ay,  and  his  own  dear  kindly  voice meanwhile 
Her  eye  grew  fixed  again,  and  then  her  head, 
Deserted  now  by  her  supporting  hand, 

Sank  on  the  pillow.  Hastening  to  the  door, 

I saw  you  coming — coming  of  a truth! 

No  wonder  she  divined  it;  all  the  time 
Her  soul  hath  dwelt  on  you  and  him. 


NATHAN. 


What  him? 


And  him? 


DAYA. 

On  him  who  plucked  her  from  the  flames. 
Nathan. 

Ay,  who  might  that  be — who  and  where  is  he? 
Where  is  the  man  who  saved  my  Recha’s  life? 

DAYA. 

’Twas  a young  Templar  who,  some  days  before, 
Spared  by  the  clemency  of  Saladin, 

Had  been  brought  hither  as  a captive.1 

NATHAN. 

How! 

A Templar,  say  you,  and  a Templar  spared 
By  Saladin ! Could  Recha  not  be  saved 
By  any  smaller  miracle  than  this ! 


JSee  Note  3. 


Sc.  i. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


133 


DAYA. 

Yet  but  for  him,  who  boldly  staked  afresh 
The  life  which  lately  had  been  spared  to  him, 
She  surely  must  have  perished. 

NATHAN. 

Daya,  say, 

Where  is  he-— where’s  the  noble,  generous  man? 
Lead  me  without  delay  unto  his  feet. 

Oh  tell  me  that  you  gave  him  on  the  spot 
Whate’er  of  wealth  I left  you — gave  him  all. 
And  promised  more — far  more 

DAYA. 

How  could  we  do’t? 

NATHAN. 

You  did  it  not! 


DAYA. 

He  came,  no  man  knows  whence; 
He  went,  no  man  knows  whither.  Destitute 
Of  all  acquaintance  with  our  house,  he  dashed, 
Led  by  his  ear  alone,  through  smoke  and  flame, 
Screened  by  his  mantle,  till  he  reached  the  spot 
Where  Recha  shrieked  for  help.  We  deemed 
him  lost, 

When  lo!  emerging  from  the  blazing  pile, 

He  stood  before  us,  on  his  stalwart  arm 
Bearing  our  darling.  Cold,  and  all  unmoved 
By  our  acclaim  of  thanks,  he  laid  her  down, 
Passed  through  the  throng  of  gaping  witnesses, 
And  vanished. 


134 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


NATHAN. 

Not  for  ever,  let  us  hope. 
DAYA. 

The  first  few  following  days  he  could  be  seen 
Wandering  up  and  down  beneath  the  palms 
Which  yonder  shade  our  risen  Saviour’s  tomb. 
With  heartfelt  rapture  I approached  his  side, 
Thanked  him,  extolled  his  valor,  and  conjured 
That  he  would  look  at  least  once  more  upon 
The  grateful  creature  who  could  never  rest 
Until  she  might  weep  out  her  gratitude 
Before  his  feet. 


NATHAN. 

What  then? 

DAYA. 

'Twas  all  in  vain; 

To  all  our  fond  entreaties  he  was  deaf ; 

And  vented  upon  me  such  bitter  taunts 

Nathan. 

That  you  recoiled  in  fear? 

DAYA. 

Nay,  far  from  that; 

For  daily  I accosted  him  afresh, 

And  every  day  I bore  his  taunts  anew. 

What  brooked  I not  from  him,  what  would  I not 
Most  willingly  have  brooked?  But  now  for  long 
He  comes  no  more  to  roam  beneath  the  palms 
Which  cast  their  shade  on  our  Redeemer’s  tomb, 


Sc.  i. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


135 


And  none  can  tell  where  he  is  hidden  now. 
You  start — you  ponder 


NATHAN. 

Nay,  I but  reflect 

How  an  adventure  such  as  this  must  work 
Upon  a heart  like  Recha’s — spurned  like  this; 
At  once  attracted  and  repelled  by  him 
She’s  bound  to  prize  so  highly — of  a truth, 

Her  heart  must  be  in  conflict  with  her  head, 

To  say  which  sentiment  should  now  prevail. 
Tender  regret,  or  hatred  of  the  man. 

Neither  may  triumph,  then  sheer  fantasy, 
Sharing  the  strife,  may  breed  a dreamy  mood, 
Reasoning  now  with  heart  and  now  with  head — 
Evil  alternative ! — unless  I wrong 
My  Recha,  such  will  haply  be  her  case ; 

She’ll  wax  a dreamer 


So  lovable! 


DAYA. 

But  she  is  so  good, 


NATHAN. 

A dreamer  none  the  less. 


DAYA. 

Well,  if  you  will,  there  is  a special  whim 
Most  dear  to  her.  She  holds  the  Templar  is 
No  human  being,  no  mere  thing  of  earth, 
But  one  of  those  blest  angels  to  whose  ward 
Her  childish  heart  from  infancy  was  fain 
To  think  she  was  entrusted;  and  that  he, 


136 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  £ 


Rending  the  clouds  in  which  he  veils  himself, 
And  hovering  o’er  her  even  in  the  fire, 

Did  suddenly  assume  the  Templar’s  form, 

And  stand  beside  her — smile  not;  who  can  tell? 
Or,  spite  your  smiles,  let  her  at  least  enjoy 
A sweet  delusion  of  a kind  that’s  shared 
Alike  by  Christian,  Mussulman,  and  Jew. 

NATHAN. 

Sweet  to  me  too.  Go,  honest  Daya,  go, 

See  what  she  does — I fain  would  speak  with 
her — 

And  then  I’ll  seek  this  guardian-angel  out, 
Who  seems  so  wild  and  freaky;  deigns  he  still 
To  wander  here  below  with  us,  and  yet 
To  wear  his  knightship  in  so  rude  a guise, 

I’ll  find  him  out  for  sure,  and  bring  him  here. 

DAYA. 

You’re  undertaking  much. 

NATHAN. 

If,  after  all, 

The  sweet  delusion  yield  to  sweeter  truth — 
And,  trust  me,  Daya,  to  a human  heart 
A man’s  more  dear  than  e’er  an  angel  is — 

You  will  not  chide  or  rail  on  me  at  least 
When  you  shall  see  our  angel-doter  cured. 

DAYA. 

You  are  so  good,  and  yet  so  trickish  too! 

I go — but  mark — see  there — she  comes  herself. 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


137 


Scene  II. — Recha  and  the  Preceding. 

RECHA. 

So,  father,  it  is  you,  in  very  sooth ; 

Methought  you’d  haply  sent  your  voice  alone 
To  herald  you.  Why  halt  you  now;  what  hills, 
What  deserts,  or  what  torrents  part  us  still? 

You  breathe  within  the  self-same  walls  with  me. 
And  yet  you  haste  not  to  embrace  your  child ; 
Poor  Recha  who  was  nearly  burnt  alive; 

Ay,  nearly,  only  nearly  burnt ; so  shudder  not — 
Oh,  ’twere  a loathly  death  to  burn  alive ! 

NATHAN. 

My  child ! my  darling  child  i 
RECHA. 

You  had  to  cross 

Euphrates,  Tigris,  Jordan,  and  who  knows 
What  other  mighty  streams — how  oft  have  I 
Trembled  before  you,  before  the  fiery  death 
So  nearly  grazed  my  being;  but  since  then 
A watery  death  seems  by  comparison 
A pleasure,  a refreshment,  a delight. 

And  yet  you  are  not  drowned  nor  am  I burned, 
How  we  will  now  rejoice,  and  thank  the  Lord ; 
He  surely  bore  you  and  your  crazy  bark 
On  his  invisible  angels’  blessed  wings 
Across  the  traitorous  streams,  and  the  same  God 
Beckoned  my  angel  that  in  patent  shape 
He  should  uplift  me  on  his  snow-white  wing 
And  bear  me  through  the  flames. 


138 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i 


Nathan  {to  himself). 

His  snow-white  wing! 
Ay,  ay,  she  means  the  Templar’s  snow-white 
robe, 

Outspread  before  him 

RECHA. 

Yes,  in  patent  shape 

He  bore  me  safely  through  the  raging  flames, 
Fanned  harmless  from  me  by  his  kindly  wings, 
Ay,  I have  seen  an  angel  face  to  face, 

My  guardian  angel. 

NATHAN. 

Recha  of  a truth 
Were  worthy  of  an  angel-visitor, 

Nor  could  she  view  in  him  a fairer  form 
Than  he  in  her. 

recha  {smiling). 

Whom  would  you  flatter  now, 
The  angel  or  yourself?1 

NATHAN. 

Yet  had  a man, 

A common  man  of  nature’s  daily  stamp, 
Vouchsafed  this  service  to  you,  he  had  loomed 
An  angel  in  your  eyes — he  must  and  would. 

RECHA. 

Not  such  a one — oh,  no;  this  was  in  truth 
A veritable  angel, — you  yourself 

1See  Note  4. 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


139 


Have  ever  taught  me  that  such  Beings  are. 

And  that  our  heavenly  Father  wonders  works 
In  their  behalf  who  love  His  holy  name, 

And  sure  I love  it. 

NATHAN. 

Ay,  and  He  loves  you, 
And  works  for  you,  and  for  the  like  of  you, 
Miracles  every  hour;  and  has  done  so 
From  all  eternity. 

RECHA. 

I love  to  hear 't. 

NATHAN. 

And  yet  though  it  might  sound  but  natural, 

An  every-day  and  ordinary  thing, 

That  a mere  Templar  had  delivered  you, 

Would  it  be  any  less  a miracle? 

To  me  the  greatest  miracle  is  this,1 
That  many  a veritable  miracle 
By  use  and  wont  grows  stale  and  commonplace. 
But  for  this  universal  miracle, 

A thinking  man  had  ne’er  confined  the  name 
To  those  reputed  miracles  alone 
Which  startle  children,  ay,  and  older  fools, 
Ever  agape  for  what  is  strange  and  new, 

And  out  of  nature’s  course. 

DAYA. 

Have  you  a mind 

With  subtle  instances  like  this  to  daze 
Her  poor  o’erheated  brain? 


1See  Note  5. 


140 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


NATHAN. 

Nay,  suffer  me — 
Were  it  not  miracle  enough  for  her 
That  she  was  rescued  by  a man  who  first 
Himself  was  rescued  by  a miracle, 

Ay,  a prodigious  one;  for  when  before 
Did  Saladin  e’er  spare  a Templar’s  life? 

When  did  a Templar  ask  him  for  such  grace, 
Or  hope  for  such,  or  tender  for  his  life 
More  than  the  leathern  girdle  of  his  sword, 

His  dagger  at  the  most?1 

RECHA. 

This  argument 

Tells  for  my  case,  my  father,  for  it  proves 
This  was  no  Templar  save  in  outward  form; 
For  if  no  captive  Templar  can  approach 
Jerusalem  except  to  certain  death, 

If  none  may  wander  here  at  liberty, 

How  could  a Templar  roaming  around  at  will 
Have  rescued  me  that  night? 

NATHAN. 

A shrewd  conceit! 

Now,  Daya,  speak.  Did  not  I learn  from  you 
That  he  was  sent  here  as  a prisoner? 

Doubtless  you  know  still  more  about  his  case. 

DAYA. 

Well,  it  is  said  so,  but  ’tis  also  said 
The  Sultan  only  spared  the  Templar’s  life 


’See  Note  6. 


11. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


141 


Because  he  bore  a strange  similitude 
To  a loved  brother  of  his  own,  now  dead. 
But  seeing  full  a score  of  years  have  passed 
Since  the  said  brother  died,  nor  do  we  know 
Even  his  name,  or  on  what  field  he  fell, 
Methinks  the  tale  is  so  incredible, 

That  there  is  nothing  in  the  whole  affair. 


NATHAN. 

Daya,  what’s  so  incredible  in  this? 

You  surely  would  not  flout  a likely  tale, 

As  others  often  do,  to  give  your  faith 
To  something  else  much  more  incredible, — 
Saladin  loves  his  kindred  all  so  well, 

Why  should  he  not,  then,  in  his  younger  years 
Have  loved  some  brother  with  a special  love? 
Are  not  two  faces  sometimes  found  alike, 

And  is  a memory  dead  because  ’tis  old? 

Since  when  has  cause  ceased  to  produce  effect? 
What  find  you  so  incredible  in  this? 

Oh,  my  sage  Daya,  this  can  be  to  you 
No  whit  a wonder, — ’tis  your  miracles 
Which  make  so  huge  a draft  upon  belief. 


DAYA. 


Mocking  again ! 


(L  L( ia\  A* 


NATHAN. 

Because  you’re  mocking  me ; 
Yet,  Recha,  your  deliverance  remains 
A wonder,  possible  to  Him  alone 
Who  loves  to  govern  by  the  slightest  threads 


142  NATHAN  THE  WISE  Act  i. 

The  firmest  plans  and  most  unbridled  wills 
Of  kings, — His  sport,  if  not  His  mockery. 

RECHA. 

My  father,  if  I err,  you  know  full  well 
I err  not  willingly. 

NATHAN. 

I know  it  well. 

Nay,  you  are  ever  teachable,  my  child. 

Look  you, — a forehead  with  a certain  arch,1 
A nose  that’s  chiselled  in  a special  form, 

A pair  of  eyebrows  pencilled  on  a brow 
Prominent  or  obtuse,  a lineament, 

A curve,  a line,  a dimple,  or  a mole, 

These  on  a savage  European  face, 

And  lo,  you’re  plucked  from  out  an  Asian  fire! 
Is  that  no  marvel,  marvel-seeking  souls? 

Why  put  an  angel  to  the  trouble  o’t? 

DAYA. 

Well,  Nathan,  if  I may  presume  to  speak, 

For  all  you  say,  I’d  ask  you  where’s  the  harm 
Of  thinking  that  an  angel  rescued  her, 

And  no  mere  man  ? — Sure  thus  we  feel  ourselves 
Nearer  the  great  inscrutable  First  Cause 
Of  our  deliverance 

NATHAN. 

Pride — and  nought  but  pride! 
The  iron  pot  would  fain  be  lifted  up 


*See  Note  7. 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


143 


With  tongs  of  silver  from  the  kitchen  fire, 

That  it  may  deem  itself  a silver  urn. 

And  where’s  the  harm,  you  ask — the  harm 
indeed ! 

Nay,  rather  might  I ask  you  where’s  the  good ; 
Since  your  pretence  of  feeling  nearer  God 
Is  either  folly  or  rank  blasphemy — 

Ay,  and  such  folly  surely  does  work  harm. 
Come,  hearken  to  me,  and  confess  the  truth;— 
As  to  the  being  who  has  saved  her  life, 

Whether  it  was  an  angel  or  a man, 

I wot  that  you,  and  Recha  more  than  you, 
Would  wish  to  do  some  service  unto  him; 
Now,  to  an  angel  I would  like  to  know 
What  service  could  ye  do — thank  him,  perhaps; 
Sigh  to  him,  pray  to  him,  or  haply  melt 
In  pious  rapture  at  the  thought  of  him ; 

Or  you  might  fast  upon  his  festival, 

Spend  alms  in  honor  of  him, — all  in  vain. 

It  strikes  me  that  your  neighbors  and  your- 
selves 

Gain  far  more  by  your  piety  than  he; 

Your  angel  grows  no  fatter  by  your  fasts, 

Nor  richer  by  your  charitable  doles, 

More  glorious  by  your  pious  ecstasies, 

Or  mightier  by  your  faith — is  that  not  so? 

How  different  with  a man ! 

DAYA. 

I grant  a mortal  would  have  furnished  us 
More  chances  to  requite  his  services, 


144 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


And  God  knows  how  we  yearned  to  do  him  good , 
But  he  would  absolutely  nought  from  us. 

And  needed  nought ; serenely  satisfied, 

Sufficient  to  himself  as  angels  are, 

And  only  they  can  be. 

RECHA. 

And  when  at  last 

He  disappeared  entirely  from  our  view 

NATHAN. 

What!  disappeared? — how  so?  beneath  the  palms 
Was  seen  no  more?  how’s  this? — Belike  ye’ve 
sought 

To  find  him  elsewhere. 

DAYA. 

Nay,  we’ve  not  done  that. 


NATHAN. 

Not  done  it,  Daya! — Is  it  possible? 

Now  see  the  mischief  of  your  foolish  dreams, 
Ye  heartless  visionaries,  what  if  now 
Your  angel  pines  in  sickness? 


RECHA. 


Sickness ! 


DAYA. 

That  cannot  be — oh  no ! 


No; 


RECHA. 


A shuddering  chill 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


145 


Creeps  o’er  me,  Daya,  and  my  brow,  but  now 
So  warm,  is  cold  as  ice. 


NATHAN. 

He  is  a Frank, 

All  unaccustomed  to  our  burning  clime; 

He’s  young  too  and  unused  to  all  the  toils, 
The  fasts  and  vigils  which  his  Order  claims. 


But  sick! 


RECHA. 


DAYA. 

Nay,  Nathan  only  would  imply 
That  such  might  peradventure  be  his  case. 


NATHAN. 

Ay,  lying  there  with  neither  friends  nor  gold 
To  buy  him  friends. 

RECHA. 

Oh,  father,  say  not  so. 

NATHAN. 

Lies  without  tendance,  sympathy,  or  help, 

A prey  to  suffering,  perhaps  to  death ! 

RECHA. 

Where,  where? 


NATHAN. 

He  who  for  one  he  ne’er  had  seen, 
Enough  she  was  a mortal  like  himself, 

Dashed  ’mid  the  flames. 


146 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i 


DAYA. 

Nathan,  be  merciful. 


NATHAN. 

Who  would  not  know  the  creature  he  had  saved ; 
Would  not  behold  her,  that  he  thus  might  shun 
Her  very  thanks! 

DAYA. 

Oh,  spare  her,  I entreat  1 


NATHAN. 

Sought  not  to  see  her  more,  unless  it  were 
That  he  might  rescue  her  a second  time ; 
Enough  that  she  was  human 


DAYA. 

Oh,  forbear! 


NATHAN. 

And  now  has  nought  to  soothe  him  in  his  death 
Beyond  the  knowledge  of  his  deed. 


DAYA. 

You’re  killing  her. 


Forbear ! 


NATHAN. 

And  you’ve  been  killing  him; 
Or  may  have  done  so.  Oh,  my  Recha,  hear, 
’Tis  wholesome  physic  that  I give  you  now, 

Not  poison, — sure  he  lives — compose  yourself, 
Belike  he  is  not  sick — not  even  sick. 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


147 


RECHA. 

Oh,  are  you  sure  he’s  neither  dead  nor  sick? 

NATHAN. 

Be  sure  he  is  not  dead,  for  God  rewards 
E’en  here  below  the  good  that  men  do  here ; 
Now  go,  my  child,  but  I would  have  you  learn 
That  pious  ecstasies  are  easier  far 
Than  righteous  action.  Slack  and  feeble  souls, 
E’en  when  themselves  unconscious  of  their  case, 
Are  prone  to  godly  raptures,  if  by  these 
They  may  eschew  the  toil  of  doing  good. 

RECHA. 

Ah,  father,  leave  me  ne’er  again  alone. 

And  do  you  think  perhaps  he’s  only  gone 
Some  otherwhere? 

NATHAN. 

Ay,  certainly — go — go — 
But  who’s  yon  Moslem  who  with  curious  eye 
Scans  my  well-laden  camels,  know  ye  him? 

DAYA. 

Why,  ’tis  your  Dervish 

NATHAN. 

Who? 

DAYA. 

Your  Dervish,  sure, 

Your  old  chess  partner,  it  is  he  indeed. 


148  NATHAN  THE  WISE  Act  i. 

NATHAN. 

A1  Hafi,1  mean  you? — that  is  never  he. 

DAYA. 

Ay,  but  he’s  now  the  Sultan’s  Treasurer. 

NATHAN. 

A1  Hafi! — are  you  at  your  dreams  again? 

Nay,  it  is  he  in  truth — he  comes  this  way. 

In  with  ye,  quick.  I wonder  what  he  brings. 


Scene  III. — Nathan  and  the  Dervish, 
dervish. 

Ay,  ope  your  eyes  as  wide  as  e’er  you  can. 

NATHAN. 

Is’t  thou,  or  is  it  not? — in  pomp  like  this — 
A Dervish ! 


DERVISH. 

Wherefore  not — can  nothing  then, 
Nothing  at  all  be  made  of  Dervishes? 

NATHAN. 

Oh,  possibly  there  might ; but  yet  I thought 
Your  genuine  Dervish  never  chose  that  men 
Should  make  aught  of  him. 


1See  Note  8. 


Sc.  iii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


149 


DERVISH. 

By  the  Prophet’s  beard 
That  I’m  no  genuine  Dervish  well  may  be, 

But  when  one  must 

NATHAN. 

How!  must — a Dervish  must/ 
No  man  should  must — a Dervish  least  of  all ; 
What  must  he,  then? 

DERVISH. 

What  he’s  implored  to  do; 
And  what  he  deems  it  right  that  he  should  do ; 
Even  a Dervish  must  do  that. 

NATHAN. 

By  heaven ! 

You  speak  the  truth — come,  let  me  hug  thee, 
man ; 

I hope  at  least  I still  may  call  you  friend. 

DERVISH. 

What,  ere  you  know  the  thing  I’ve  now  become? 

NATHAN. 

In  spite  of  that. 

DERVISH. 

But  what  if  I’ve  become 
A Jack-in-office,  one  whose  friendship  now 
Might  not  be  to  your  liking. 


150 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


NATHAN. 

If  your  heart 

Be  Dervish  still.  I’ll  take  my  chance  of  that; 
As  for  your  office,  ’twere  no  more  to  me 
Than  is  the  suit  of  clothes  in  which  you  stand. 

DERVISH. 

Ay,  but  it  still  might  claim  your  reverence. 
What  think  you  ? guess — suppose  you  had  a court 
What  had  your  friend  A1  Haft  been  therein? 

NATHAN. 

A Dervish  pure  and  simple — nothing  more ; 
Or  at  the  most  then  possibly  my  cook. 

DERVISH. 

To  spoil  my  skill  in  serving  such  as  you! 

Your  cook,  forsooth!  Why  not  your  pantler  too? 
Now  own  that  Saladin  appraises  me 
More  shrewdly,  seeing  that  I’ve  now  become 
His  Treasurer. 


NATHAN. 

You  Treasurer  to  him! 


DERVISH. 

I rule  his  privy  purse ; his  father  still 
Controls  the  public  treasury,  while  I 
Am  fiscal  of  his  house. 


I mean 


NATHAN. 

His  house  is  large. 


Sc.  iii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


151 


DERVISH. 

Ay,  and  *tis  larger  even  than  you  think, 

For  every  beggar  is  a member  on’t. 

NATHAN. 

Yet  Saladin  so  hates  your  mendicants 

DERVISH. 

That  he’s  resolved  to  extirpate  the  breed 
Both  root  and  branch,  although  the  task  may 
make 

A beggar  of  himself. 

NATHAN. 

That’s  just  my  thought. 

DERVISH. 

Nay,  he  is  one  already,  just  as  much 
As  e’er  another,  for  his  store  each  eve 
Is  something  worse  than  empty,  and  the  flood, 
Which  flowed  so  freely  in  the  morn,  by  noon 
Has  long  since  ebbed. 

NATHAN. 

For  channels  suck  it  up, 

At  least  in  part,  to  fill  or  stop  up  which 
Were  hopeless  both  alike. 

DERVISH. 

You’ve  hit  it  there. 

NATHAN. 


I know  it  well. 


152 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


DERVISH. 

Ay,  it  is  bad  enough 

When  kings  are  vultures  amid  carcases, 
But  when  ’mid  vultures  they’re  the  carcases 
The  case  is  ten  times  worse. 


Not  so. 


NATHAN. 

Oh,  Dervish,  no; 


DERVISH. 

’Tis  very  well  to  talk,  but  come, 

What  will  you  give  me  to  resign  my  post 
In  your  behalf? 


NATHAN. 

What  does  your  post  bring  in? 

DERVISH. 

To  me  not  much ; but  it  would  fatten  you, 

For  when  ’tis  dead  low  water  in  his  chest, 

As  oft’s  the  case,  you’d  throw  your  sluices  wide, 
Pour  in  your  loans,  and  take,  in  usury, 

As  much — as  much  as  e’er  you  could  desire. 

NATHAN. 

Usury  even  on  my  usury’s  gains? 


Just  so. 


DERVISH. 


NATHAN. 

Till  all  my  capital  became 
One  teeming  mass  of  compound  usury. 


Sc.  iii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


153 


DERVISH. 

Does  that  not  tempt  you?  If  not,  write  forth- 
with 

Our  friendship’s  deed  of  separation  now ; 
Nathan,  I counted  much  on  you. 


NATHAN. 

What  mean  you,  Dervish? 


How  so, 


DERVISH. 

That  you  would  have  helped 
To  make  me  creditably  fill  my  post 
By  access  to  your  cofifers — but  I see 
You  shake  your  head. 


NATHAN. 

Let  there  be  no  mistake, 

For  here  a clear  distinction  must  be  drawn; 

A1  Hafi,  Dervish,  ever  welcome  is 
To  aught  that  Nathan  can  command — but  mark, 
A1  Hafi,  minister  of  Saladin,1 
Who 

DERVISH. 

Sure  I guessed  as  much,  and  knew  you  were 
As  good  as  wise,  as  wise  as  you  are  good. 

The  twin  A1  Hafis  you  distinguish  thus 
Shall  soon  part  company  again,  for  see, 

This  robe  of  office  Saladin  bestowed, 

Ere  it  be  faded,  or  reduced  to  rags 
Such  as  a genuine  Dervish  ought  to  wear, 


1See  Note  9. 


154 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


Shall  grace  a peg  here  in  Jerusalem, 

While  I,  barefoot  and  scantily  attired, 

Shall  with  my  teachers  tread  the  burning  sands 
Of  distant  Ganges. 

NATHAN. 

That  were  like  yourself. 

DERVISH. 

Ay,  and  play  chess  with  them. 

NATHAN. 

Your  greatest  bliss. 

DERVISH. 

Could  that  have  metamorphosed  in  a trice 
The  wealthiest  beggar  to  a poor  rich  man? 

NATHAN. 

Not  that,  I trow. 

DERVISH. 

No — it  was  something  else, 

And  something  even  more  absurd  than  that ; 

I felt  me  flattered  as  I ne’er  had  been, 
Flattered  by  Saladin’s  kind-hearted  whim. 

NATHAN. 

And  what  was  that? 

DERVISH. 

A beggar,  so  he  said, 

And  such  alone,  could  tell  how  beggars  feel ; 
Only  a beggar  by  experience  knew 


Sc.  iii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


155 


How  to  bestow  on  beggars  gracefully. 

My  predecessor  had  been  much  too  cold, 

Too  rough,  and  gave  so  rudely  when  he  gave; 
He  probed  each  case  too  harshly,  ne’er  content 
To  witness  want,  but  still  would  know  its  cause, 
And  thus  proportionate  his  cautious  dole. 

‘A1  Hah,’  so  he  said,  ‘will  not  do  that, 

And  Saladin  in  him  will  not  appear 
So  circumspect  and  so  unkindly  kind. 

He  is  not  like  those  choked-up  conduit-pipes 
Which  issue  forth  in  foul  and  fitful  jets 
The  streams  which  entered  them  so  clear  and 
calm. 

A1  Hafi  thinks,  A1  Hafi  feels  as  I.’ 

Thus  sweetly  trilled  the  fowler’s  pipe,  until 
The  fowl  was  netted — idiot  that  I am; 

Dupe  of  a dupe! 


NATHAN. 

Nay,  softly,  Dervish,  now ! 

DERVISH. 

What ! were  it  not  the  rankest  foolery, 

By  thousands  to  oppress  and  crush  mankind, 
Rob  them,  destroy  them,  torture  them,  yet  play 
The  philanthrope  to  individual  men  !l 
Were  it  not  impious  folly,  too,  to  ape 
The  goodness  of  Almighty  God  that’s  shed 
Without  distinction  upon  good  and  bad, 
Benignly  shed  in  sunshine  and  in  shower 
On  field  and  plain  and  wilderness  alike, 


1Sec  Note  10. 


156 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


Yet  not  possess  his  never-failing  hand. 
Were  that  not  foolery? 

NATHAN. 

Enough — desist. 


DERVISH. 

Nay,  let  me  dwell  on  my  own  folly  too. 

Were  it  not  folly  if  I sought  to  find 
The  better  side  of  follies  such  as  these, 

Only  because  of  such  a better  side 

To  share  such  follies — ha!  now,  what  of  that? 

NATHAN. 

Hie  thee,  A1  Hafi,  quick  as  e’er  you  can, 

Back  to  your  deserts,  for  ’mid  men,  I fear, 

You  shortly  may  unlearn  to  be  a man. 

DERVISH. 

You’re  right — I feared  that  very  thing  myself  ; 
Good-bye. 


NATHAN. 

But  why  such  haste?  A1  Hafi,  wait; 
Think  you  your  desert’s  like  to  run  away? — 
Would  he  but  hear  me!  ho!  A1  Hafi,  ho! — 

He’s  gone!  and  fain  would  I have  asked  of  him 
About  our  Templar,  for  the  chances  are 
He  knows  the  man. 


Sc.  iv. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


157 


Scene  IV. — Daya,  in  haste  to  Nathan. 


daya. 

Oh,  Nathan,  Nathan  1 

NATHAN. 


What  would  you  now? 


Well, 


DAYA. 

He  has  appeared  again; 
He’s  there  once  more! 


NATHAN. 

Who,  Daya,  who? 

DAYA. 

He,  he! 

NATHAN. 

He,  he — why,  he’s  are  plenty;  but  I trow 
Your  he’s  your  only  he — this  should  not  be, 
Not  if  he  were  an  angel  past  dispute 

DAYA. 

Beneath  the  palms  he  wanders  once  again, 
And  ever  and  anon  he  plucks  the  dates. 


NATHAN. 

And  eats  them,  sure,  as  any  Templar  would. 

DAYA. 

Oh,  Nathan,  wherefore  will  you  tease  me  thus? 
Her  hunerv  eve  espied  him  in  a trice 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  L 


1 58 


Behind  the  thickly  interlacing  palms, 

And  follows  him  unswervingly.  She  begs, 
Conjures  that  you  will  go  to  him  at  once ; 

Oh,  hasten — from  the  casement  she  will  sign 
Whether  he  still  walks  there,  or  wends  his  steps 
Farther  afield.  Oh  haste  you,  Nathan,  haste! 

NATHAN. 

Just  as  I’ve  lighted  from  my  camel? — nay, 

Would  that  be  seemly?  better  go  yourself, 

And  tell  him  I’ve  returned.  Be  well  assured 
The  worthy  youth  has  only  shunned  my  house 
Because  its  lord  was  absent ; and  that  now 
He’ll  gladly  come  when  Recha’s  father  thus 
Invites  him  here, — go,  tell  him  that  I do, 

And  from  my  heart. 

DAYA. 

’Twere  vain;  he’ll  never  come, 
Since,  to  be  brief,  he  comes  to  ne’er  a Jew. 

NATHAN. 

Go,  ne’ertheless — at  least  detain  him  there; 

Or,  failing  that,  then  hold  him  in  your  eye; 

Go,  go  at  once — I’ll  follow  you  anon. 

(Nathan  enters  his  house.  Daya  sets  forth.) 


Sc.  V. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


159 


Scene  V. — An  open  place  shaded  by  paint  trees.  The 
Templar  pacing  up  and  down  beneath  the  palms. 
At  a little  distance  a lay  brother  of  the  convent, 
dogging  his  steps,  and  seemingly  desirous  of  ad- 
aressing  him. 

TEMPLAR. 

That  fellow  dogs  me  not  for  pastime.  See 
How  greedily  he  leers  upon  my  hands ! 

(To  the  Friar.) 

Good  brother — or  good  father,  possibly 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Simple  lay  brother,  sir,  at  your  command. 

TEMPLAR. 

Well,  my  good  brother,  had  I aught  myself — 
But,  as  God  lives,  I’ve  nothing. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

All  the  same, 

Right  hearty  thanks ; God  give  you  thousand-fold 
What  you  would  give ; the  will  and  not  the  gift 
Doth  constitute  the  giver ; and  besides, 

I was  not  sent  unto  your  Excellence 
To  crave  a dole. 

TEMPLAR. 

So  then  you  have  been  sent? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Ay  — from  the  cloister 


160 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  L 


TEMPLAR. 

Where  I even  now 
Hoped  to  receive  a slender  pilgrim’s  meal. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

The  tables  were  already  occupied ; 

Bat  come,  I pray  you,  back  with  me. 

TEMPLAR. 

Why  so  ? 

’Tis  true  ’tis  long  since  I have  tasted  flesh. 

But  what  of  that — thank  God  the  dates  are  ripe. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Be  cautious,  sir,  I pray  you,  with  that  fruit; 
Too  freely  used,  ’tis  hurtful,  for  it  clogs 
The  spleen,  and  genders  melancholy  blood. 

TEMPLAR. 

What  if  I loved  the  melancholy  mood? 

But  surely,  sir,  you  were  not  sent  to  me 
To  sound  this  wholesome  warning. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

No — I’m  sent 

To  sound  you — I may  say,  to  feel  your  pulse. 

TEMPLAR. 

What!  can  you  say  it  to  my  very  face? 

LAY  BROTHER. 


And  wherefore  not? 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


161 


Templar  {aside). 

A crafty  friar  this-— — 

( To  the  Friar). 

Boasts  then  your  convent  many  more  like  you? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

I know  not — but,  dear  sir,  I must  obey. 
TEMPLAR. 

And  so  you  just  obey,  and  split  no  hairs? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Were  it  obedience  else,  dear  sir? 

templar  (aside). 

See  now, 

Simplicity  is  ever  in  the  right. 

(To  the  Friar). 

Yet  I presume  you  may  confide  to  me. 

Who  is  the  man  so  keen  to  probe  my  case ; 

I’ll  swear  'tis  not  yourself. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Would  such  a wish 

Beseem  or  profit  me? 

, TEMPLAR. 

Whom,  then,  I pray, 

Would  it  beseem  or  profit,  since  he  is 
So  curious  about  me — who’s  the  man? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

The  Patriarch,  I fancy,  for  ’twas  he 
Who  sent  me  after  you. 


162 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


TEMPLAR. 

The  Patriarch ! 

Knows  he  no  better  what  the  crimson  cross 
On  the  white  mantle  means? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Why,  I know  that. 


TEMPLAR. 

Well,  I’m  a Templar,  and  a prisoner, 

Taken  at  Tebnin1 — if  you  care  to  know — 

The  fortress  we  so  keenly  wished  to  win 
In  the  last  moments  of  the  armistice, 

That  we  might  then  storm  Sidon,  I may  add. 
I was  the  twentieth  taken,  and  alone 
Was  spared  by  Saladin.  The  Patriarch  now 
Knows  all  he  needs  to  know  of  me ; nay,  more 
Than  he  can  need  to  know. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

But  hardly  more 

Than  he  already  knows.  He  now  would  know 
Why  Saladin  was  moved  to  spare  your  life, 
And  yours  alone. 

TEMPLAR. 

Do  I myself  know  that? 
Bare-necked  I kneeled  already  on  my  cloak 
To  meet  the  fatal  stroke,  when  Saladin 
Scanned  me  more  closely,  bounded  to  my  side. 
And  made  a signal  to  his  Mamelukes ; 


JSee  Note  11. 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


163 


They  raised  me  up  and  struck  my  fetters  off ; 

I made  as  if  to  thank  him,  but  I saw 
His  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  and  there  he  stood 
Mute  as  myself, — -he  left  the  spot, — I lived, — 
What  means  this  riddle  let  the  Patriarch 
Unriddle  for  himself. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

He  thence  concludes 

God  has  reserved  you  for  some  weighty  ends ; 
For  glorious  things. 

TEMPLAR. 

For  glorious  things,  forsooth ! 
To  snatch  a Jewish  wench  from  out  the  flames; 
Escort  on  Sinai  gaping  pilgrim  bands, 

And  such-like  feats. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

The  glories  are  as  yet 
To  follow,  and  so  far  you’ve  not  done  ill; 
Perhaps  the  Patriach  himself  designs 
Some  far  more  weighty  matters  for  you  now. 

TEMPLAR. 

Ay,  brother,  think  you  so?  he  has,  belike, 
Already  hinted  it  to  you. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

He  has  ; but  first 

I am  to  sound  you,  whether  you’re  the  man 
Would  suit  his  purpose. 


164 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


TEMPLAR. 

Well  then,  sound  away. 
(Aside.) 

I’d  gladly  see  how  the  good  brother  sounds. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

The  shortest  plan  will  be  to  tell  you  plain 
The  Patriarch’s  purpose. 

TEMPLAR. 

Well? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

He  wishes  you 

To  bear  a certain  letter 

TEMPLAR. 

Wishes  me 

To  bear  a letter!  I’m  no  courier. 

Is  this  the  weighty  end  more  glorious  far 
Than  rescuing  Jewish  maids? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

It  must  be  so; 

For,  says  the  Patriarch,  this  letter  is 
Of  passing  weight  to  Christendom  entire; 

The  man  who  bears  it  safely,  so  he  says, 

God  of  a surety  will  reward  in  heaven 
With  a peculiar  crown,  and  this,  he  says, 

No  man  is  worthier  of  than  you. 


TEMPLAR. 


Than  I! 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


165 


LAY  BROTHER. 

Since,  to  deserve  this  special  crown,  he  says, 
Scarce  any  man’s  more  fit  than  you 

TEMPLAR. 

Than  I ! 

LAY  BROTHER. 

You’re  free,  can  reconnoitre  here  at  will, 

You  understand  how  towns  are  to  be  stormed, 
And  how  defended ; you  can  estimate 
Better  than  any,  says  the  Patriarch, 

The  strength  and  weakness  of  the  inner  wall, 
The  second  wall,  late  reared  by  Saladin, 

And  to  the  champions  of  God,  he  says, 
Describe  it  all. 


v TEMPLAR. 

Good  brother,  might  I ask 
To  know  the  further  tenor  of  the  note? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Well,  I can  scarcely  tell  you  that  myself  ; 

It  is  intended  for  King  Philip’s  hands  j1 
It  seems  the  Patriarch — sure  I’ve  wmndered  oft 
How  such  a holy  man,  whose  wont  it  is 
To  live  for  heaven  alone,  can  condescend 
At  the  same  time  to  be  so  well  informed 
Of  worldly  things ; it  must  revolt  his  soul 

TEMPLAR. 

Well  then,  the  Patriarch? 


See  Note  12. 


166 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i 


LAY  BROTHER. 

Precisely  knows 

And  surely,  how  and  where,  and  in  what  strength 
And  from  what  quarter,  Saladin  intends 
To  open  the  campaign  in  case  the  war 
Breaks  out  afresh. 

TEMPLAR. 

He  does? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

And  ’tis  his  wish 

To  let  King  Philip  know  how  matters  stand, 
That  he  may  proximately  weigh  the  risks, 

And  judge  if  it  were  better  to  renew 
With  Saladin,  whate’er  the  cost,  the  truce 
Your  Order  lately  did  so  boldly  break. 

TEMPLAR. 

Oh,  what  a Patriarch ! Ay,  ay,  I see 
The  dear  and  daring  man  would  make  of  me 
No  ordinary  courier,  but — a spy. 

Now,  worthy  brother,  tell  your  Patriarch 
That  in  so  far  as  you  can  make  me  out 
This  is  no  job  for  me — that  I am  bound 
Still  to  regard  myself  a prisoner; 

And  that  a Templar’s  single  duty  is 
To  wield  the  sword  with  valor  in  the  fray, 
Not  play  the  common  spy. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

I thought  as  much; 

Nor  can  I take  your  answer  much  amiss. 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


167 


But  now  the  best’s  to  come ; the  Patriarch 
Has  somehow  pried  out  how  the  fort  is  named, 
And  where  ’tis  situate  on  Lebanon, 

In  which  the  store  of  treasure  is  preserved 
Wherewith  the  prudent  sire  of  Saladin 
Maintains  his  forces  and  defrays  the  cost 
Of  all  his  warfare.  Saladin,  it  seems, 

Repairs  from  time  to  time,  by  hidden  paths, 

With  slender  escort,  to  that  mountain  fort — 

You  follow  me? 


TEMPLAR. 

Not  I! 

LAY  BROTHER. 

The  Patriarch  thinks 
It  were  an  easy  matter  now  to  seize 
On  Saladin,  and  make  an  end  of  him. 

What — do  you  shudder?  Oh,  a worthy  brace 
Of  godly  Maronites  are  quite  prepared, 

If  but  a valiant  man  would  lead  them  on, 

To  venture  it. 


TEMPLAR. 

And  so  your  Patriarch 
Has  chosen  me  to  be  that  valiant  man? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

And  then  he  thinks  that  out  of  Ptolemais 
King  Philip  could  most  fitly  lend  a hand 
To  help  the  work. 


168 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


TEMPLAR. 

What,  brother,  this  to  me ! 

To  me! — have  you  not  heard — this  moment 
heard, 

The  monstrous  debt  of  gratitude  I owe 
To  Saladin? 


LAY  BROTHER. 

Oh,  yes,  I heard 


TEMPLAR. 


And  yet? 


LAY  BROTHER. 

The  Patriarch  thinks  all  this  is  very  well ; 

But  that  God’s  service  and  your  Order’s  claims — 


TEMPLAR. 

These  alter  not  the  case — these  ne’er  enjoin 
A deed  of  villainy  ! 

LAY  BROTHER. 

No — surely  not ; 

Only — so  thinks  the  Patriarch — villainy. 

In  sight  of  man’s  not  so  in  sight  of  God. 

TEMPLAR. 

That  I should  owe  my  life  to  Saladin, 

And  yet  take  his  ! 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Ay,  but  the  Patriarch  says 
Saladin’s  still  the  foe  of  Christendom, 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


169 


And  never  possibly  can  win  the  right 
To  be  a friend  to  you. 

TEMPLAR. 

A friend — well,  no — 

Yet  one  to  whom  I may  not  prove  a knave, 

A most  ungrateful  knave. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Oh,  surely  no — 

And  yet  the  Patriarch  holds  a man  is  quit 
Of  gratitude  before  both  God  and  man 
Whene’er  the  service  which  involved  the  debt 
Hath  not  been  rendered  for  his  sake  alone ; 
And  when  ’tis  known,  so  thinks  the  Patriarch, 
That  Saladin  hath  only  spared  your  life 
Because  a something  in  your  face  and  mien 
Recalled  his  long-lost  brother  to  his  mind 

.TEMPLAR. 

And  so  the  Patriarch  knows  this  too, — well, 
Ah,  were  it  so  in  sooth ! Ah,  Saladin, 

If  nature  formed  one  feature  of  my  face 
In  the  resemblance  of  your  brother’s  looks, 
Should  nought  within  me  correspond  thereto? 
And  what  might  correspond,  could  I suppress 
To  do  a pleasure  to  a Patriarch? 

Nature,  thou  lie’st  not  thus ; nor  in  His  works 
Doth  God  thus  contradict  Himself — go,  brother, 
go ; 

Rouse  not  my  gall — begone,  I say,  begone! 


170 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


LAY  BROTHER. 

I go — and  go  more  happy  than  I came — 
Forgive  me,  sir,  but  think,  we  cloister  folk 
Must  needs  obey  our  Patriarch’s  commands. 


Scene  VI. — The  Templar  and  Daya  ; the  latter  of 
whom  has  for  some  time  been  watching  the  former 
at  a distance  and  now  approaches  him. 

Daya  ( to  herself). 

Yon  monk,  methinks,  left  him  in  no  sweet  mood, 
Yet  I must  dare  my  errand. 

templar. 

Ha ! what’s  this? 

The  adage  lies  not — monk  and  woman  still, 
Woman  and  monk  are  the  Fiend’s  fellest 
claws ; 

To-day  he  flings  me  in  the  clutch  of  both. 
daya. 

Is’t  possible,  my  noble  knight;  is’t  you?  Thank 
God, 

A thousand  thanks  to  God, — but  where,  I pray, 
Where  have  you  hidden  all  this  time?  I trust 
You’ve  not  been  ill. 

templar. 


Not  I. 


Sc.  vi. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


171 


DAYA. 

Then  well? 


TEMPLAR. 

Quite  well. 

DAYA. 

Oh,  we’ve  been  anxious  upon  your  account! 

v TEMPLAR. 

Have  you  in  sooth? 

DAYA. 

You’ve  surely  been  away. 


TEMPLAR. 

Right. 

DAYA. 

And  came  back  to-day? 


TEMPLAR. 


No,  yesterday. 


DAYA. 

Our  Recha’s  father  too  returned  this  day ; 
And  now  I trust  that  she  may  hope 


TEMPLAR. 


For  what? 


DAYA. 

For  what  she  oft  had  bid  me  ask  of  you ; 
Her  father  too  now  earnestly  entreats 
That  you  will  come — he’s  fresh  from  Babylon 


172 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


With  twenty  camels  bearing  precious  loads 
Of  gems,  and  stuffs,  and  costly  spices,  such 
As  Persia,  Syria,  and  far  Cathay1 
Alone  can  furnish  forth. 

TEMPLAR. 

I purchase  nought. 


DAYA. 

His  people  honor  him  like  any  prince ; 

And  yet  I wonder  that  they  call  him  aye 
Nathan  the  Wise,  and  not  in  preference 
Nathan  the  Rich. 

TEMPLAR. 

Possibly  rich  and  wise 
Are  all  the  same  to  them. 


DAYA. 

But  more  than  all 
They  ought  to  have  entitled  him  the  Good ; 
For  oh  you  cannot  think  how  good  he  is ; 
Soon  as  he  learned  our  Recha’s  debt  to  you, 
What  in  that  grateful  moment  would  he  not 
Have  done  or  given  to  guerdon  you  1 


TEMPLAR. 

DAYA. 

Try  him,  sir,  come  and  see. 


Indeed. 


’See  Note  13. 


Sc.  vi. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


173 


TEMPLAR. 

But  then  how  soon 
Such  moments  melt  away  l1 

DAYA. 

Think  you,  sir  knight, 
Had  he  not  been  so  kindly  and  so  good. 

I e’er  had  brooked  to  stay  with  him  so  long? 
Think  you  I know  not  what’s  a Christian’s 
place  ? 

No,  it  was  never  o’er  my  cradle  crooned 
That  I should  find  my  way  to  Palestine 
With  my  late  husband,  for  no  worthier  end 
Than  there  to  wait  upon  a Jewish  girl. 

My  husband,  sir,  was  then  a well-born  squire 
In  Kaiser  Frederick’s  host 

TEMPLAR. 

By  birth  a Swiss, 

Who  had  at  once  the  honor  and  the  joy 
Of  choking  in  the  self-same  puny  stream 
With  his  Imperial  Majesty  himself.2 
Woman,  how  oft  you’ve  told  me  this  before ; 
Will  you  then  never  cease  to  pester  me? 

DAYA. 

Pester  you — oh  my  God ! 

TEMPLAR. 

Ay,  pester  me. 

I’m  now  resolved  never  to  see  you  more, 


JSee  Note  14. 


sSee  Note  15. 


174 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  i. 


Nor  hear  your  prate — nor  do  I choose  to  be 
Incessantly  reminded  of  a deed 
I never  meant  to  do;  the  thought  of  which 
Is  a continual  riddle  to  myself. 

I would  not  wish  now  to  repent  of  it; 

But  mark,  should  such  a case  occur  again, 
You’ll  have  yourself  to  blame  if  I should  act 
Not  quite  so  promptly,  but  consider  first 
And  ponder  well,  and  rather  leave  what  burns 
To  burn  to  death. 


DAYA. 

Now  God  forbid ! 


TEMPLAR. 


Henceforth 

Do  me  the  kindness  at  the  least,  I pray, 

To  cease  to  know  me  more ; and  more  than  all, 
To  save  me  from  this  father — Jew  is  Jew, 

And  I’m  a downright  Swabian — for  the  maid, 
Her  image  long  ago  has  left  my  thoughts, 

If  e’er  it  dwelt  there. 


DAYA. 

Ay,  but  yours  still  dwells 

In  hers. 

TEMPLAR. 

What  business  has  it  there? 


DAYA. 


Who  knows? 

Folk  are  not  always  what  they  seem  to  be. 


Sc.  vi. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


175 


. TEMPLAR. 

They’re  seldom  any  better. 

( He  is  about  to  go). 

DAYA. 

Oh,  sir,  wait, 

Wherefore  such  haste? 

TEMPLAR. 

Woman,  make  not  the  palms 
Hateful  to  me,  where  I’m  so  fain  to  roam. 

DAYA. 

Then  go,  thou  German  bear — go — go — and  yet 
I must  not  lose  the  traces  of  the  beast. 

( She  follows  him  at  a distance.) 


176 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — The  Sultan’s  Palace. 
Saladin  and  Sittah  playing  chess. 


SITTAH. 

My  Saladin,  oh  how  you  play  to-day! 

SALADIN. 

Not  well?  Methought 

SITTAH. 

Ay,  well  enough  for  me ; 
Yet  hardly  even  that — take  back  that  move. 

SALADIN. 

Why  so? 

SITTAH. 

Because  unless  you  do,  your  knight 
Will  be  exposed. 

SALADIN. 

You’re  right — well,  thus. 


SITTAH. 

My  pawn  will  fork.1 


But  now 


‘See  Note  16. 


Sc.  i. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


177 


SALADIN. 

Ah,  right  again — then  check! 

SITTAH. 

But  that  won’t  help  you.  I advance,  and  now 
You’re  as  you  were. 

SALADIN. 

From  this  dilemma,  sure, 
There’s  no  escaping  with  impunity; 

Well,  take  my  knight. 


SITTAH. 

I will  not  take  him  now  ; 

I’ll  pass  him  by. 

SALADIN. 

Small  thanks  to  you — that  move 
Is  more  important  to  you  than  the  knight. 

SITTAH. 

Perhaps. 

SALADIN. 

But  reckon  not  without  your  host; 

For  see,  I’d  wager  you  did  not  expect 
This  move  of  mine. 


SITTAH. 

No — how  could  I suppose 
That  you  were  weary  of  your  queen. 


SALADIN. 


My  queen? 


178 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


SITTAH. 

Ay,  now  ’tis  plain  that  I this  day  shall  win 
My  thousand  dinars,1  if  I win  no  more. 


How  so? 


SALADIN. 


SITTAH. 

How  can  you  ask,  since  purposely 
You  lose  with  all  your  might — and  yet  I gain 
But  little  by  it,  for  besides  the  fact 
That  play  like  this  has  little  pleasure  in’t, 
E’en  when  I lose  I ever  gain  the  most, 

Since,  to  console  me  for  my  want  of  skill, 
You  ever  give  me  double  what  I’ve  lost. 


SALADIN. 

But  look  you,  little  sister,  when  you  lose, 
Perhaps  you  do  it  purposely  as  well. 


SITTAH. 

Well,  well,  your  generosity  at  least 
Perhaps  may  be  the  reason,  brother  mine, 
That  I’ve  not  learned  to  play  a better  hand. 

SALADIN. 

But  we  neglect  our  game ; come,  finish  it. 


SITTAH. 

Is  that  so, — well  then,  check,  and  double  check ! 


SALADIN. 

I never  thought  of  this  discovered  check,2 
’See  Note  17.  ’See  Note  16. 


Sc.  i. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


179 


By  which  I fear  I’m  like  to  lose  my  queen, 

And  game  as  well. 

SITTAH. 

But  could  you  help  yourself? 

Let’s  see. 

SALADIN. 

No,  sister,  you  may  take  the  queen ; 
She  never  was  a lucky  piece  to  me. 

SITTAH. 

Only  at  chess? 


SALADIN. 

Take  her — it  matters  not, 
Now  all  my  other  pieces  are  secure. 

SITTAH. 

Nay,  nay,  you’ve  taught  me  better,  Saladin, 
The  courtesy  that’s  ever  due  to  queens.1 

SALADIN. 

Take  her  or  leave  her,  even  as  you  will, 
But  she  is  mine  no  more. 


SITTAH. 

But  where’s  the  need? 
Here’s  check  to  you  again — check,  check! 

SALADIN. 

Go  on ! 


1See  Note  18. 


180 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


SITTAH. 

Ay,  check,  and  no  mistake! 

SALADIN. 

And  checkmate  too. 


SITTAH. 

Not  quite;  you  still  can  interpose  your  knight, 
And  try  again — yet  do  whate’er  you  please, 

I fear  ’tis  all  the  same. 

SALADIN. 

Ay,  ay,  you’ve  won, 

And  Hafi  now  must  pay — send  for  him  quick. 
Sittah,  you  were  not  altogether  wrong, 

I played  too  absently;  I was  distraught. 

Why  must  they  ever  give  us  this  plain  set 
Of  formless  pieces,  representing  nought, 

And  barren  of  suggestion  to  the  mind? 

Or  did  they  fancy  that  I meant  to  play 
With  the  Imaum?1 — perhaps — but  losers  still 
Must  ever  seek  excuses ; and  I fear 
’Twas  not  the  formless  pieces  made  me  lose; 
But  your  superior  skill,  your  quicker  eye, 

And  greater  concentration  won  the  day. 

SITTAH. 

Thus  would  you  dull  the  sting  of  your  defeat? 
Enough,  you  were  distraught,  and  more  than  I. 


'See  Note  19. 


Sc.  i. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


181 


SALADIN. 

Than  you,  forsooth ! — what  should  make  you  dis- 
traught ? 

SITTAH. 

Not  cares  like  yours,  I own.  But,  Saladin, 
When  shall  we  play  as  keenly  as  we  used? 

SALADIN. 

Nay,  let  us  play  more  keenly  than  before; 

Or  think  you  that  the  war  will  hinder  it? 

No,  let  it  burst  as  quickly  as  it  may; 

It  is  not  I renewed  it.  Willingly 
Had  I prolonged  the  armistice  afresh; 

And  at  the  same  time  willingly  had  won 
The  man  who’s  fit  to  be  my  Sittah’s  mate, 
And  that  is  Richard’s  brother1 — none  but  he — 
My  Richard’s  brother! 

SITTAH. 

You  are  ever  fain 
To  praise  your  Richard. 

SITTAH. 

Had  his  sister  now 

Chanced  to  become  our  brother  Melek’s  bride,’ 
Oh  what  a house  the  union  would  have  formed  l 
Best  of  the  best,  and  first  of  all  the  earth. 

Mark  me,  I’m  nothing  loath  to  vaunt  my  race ; 
I’m  worthy  of  my  friends.  A stock  like  that 
Had  yielded  sons  who  had  been  men  indeed! 


*See  Note  20. 


2See  Note  21. 


182 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


SITTAH. 

Did  I not  ever  flout  the  specious,  dream? 

You  know  not,  will  not  know,  what  Christians 
are ; 

Their  pride  is  to  be  Christians,  never  men ; 

Ay,  even  that  which  since  their  Founder’s  time 
Hath  tinged  their  superstition  with  a touch 
Of  pure  humanity,  is  prized  by  them 
Never  because  ’tis  human,  but  because 
’Twas  preached  and  practised  by  their  Jesus 
Christ. 

’Tis  well  for  them  he  was  so  rare  a man; 

Well  that  they  take  his  virtues  upon  trust; 

But  what  to  them  the  virtues  of  their  Christ? 

’Tis  was  not  his  virtues,  but  his  name  alone 
They  seek  to  spread,  that  it  may  dominate 
And  cloud  the  names  of  other  noble  men ; 

Ay,  ’tis  the  name,  the  name  of  Christ  alone 
Your  Christian  cares  about. 

SALADIN. 

By  this  you  mean 

They  would  insist  that  you  and  Melek  both 
Should  bear  the  name  before  ye  could  presume 
As  man  or  wife  to  love  a Christian? 

SITTAH. 

Just  so — as  if  a Christian  alone 

Can  know  the  love  which  the  Creator’s  hand 

Hath  planted  in  the  breast  of  man  and  wife ! 


Sc.  i. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


183 


SALADIN. 

The  Christians  hold  such  strange  absurdities 
They  well  might  credit  this.  And  yet  you  err ; 
For  ’tis  the  Templars,  not  the  Christians, 

As  Templars,  mark  me,  not  as  Christians, 

Who  foil  my  purpose  here,  refusing  still 
To  part  with  Acre  from  their  greedy  clutch; 
Acre,  which  Richard’s  sister  should  have  brought 
As  dowry  to  our  Melek ; while,  to  mask 
Their  knightly  aims,  they  needs  must  play  the 
monk, 

The  guileless  monk,  forsooth ! — and  now,  to 
snatch 

A fleeting  triumph,  they  will  scarce  await 
The  termination  of  the  armistice. 

So  be  it  sirs,  ’tis  all  the  same  to  me, 

Were  all  else  only  as  it  ought  to  be. 

SITTAH. 

Brother,  what  else  goes  wrong  with  you;  what 
else 

Could  disconcert  you  thus? 

SALADIN. 

What  else  but  that 
Which  still  hath  disconcerted  all  my  schemes ; 
I’ve  been  to  Lebanon  and  seen  your  sire  ;* 

He  sinks  beneath  his  cares. 

SITTAH. 


*See  Note  22. 


Alas,  alas ! 


184 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


SALADIN. 

He  must  succumb  with  straits  on  every  hand ; 
All  fails,  now  here,  now  there 

SITTAH. 

What  straits — what  fails? 

SALADIN. 

What  else  but  what  I almost  scorn  to  name ; 
Which,  when  ’tis  mine,  seems  so  superfluous, 
And,  when  it  lacks,  so  indispensable. 

Where  is  A1  Hafi  now,  hath  no  one  gone 
To  call  him  here?  Oh  hateful,  cursed  gold! — 
Ha!  here  he  comes,  and  in  the  nick  of  time. 


Scene  II. — Al  Hafi,  Saladin  and  Sittah. 

AL  HAFI. 

I trust  the  Egyptian  moneys  have  arrived, 
And  in  good  store. 

SALADIN. 

What,  have  you  word  of  them  ? 

AL  HAFI. 

Not  I ; but  yet  I thought  they  must  have  come, 
And  that  belike  you  now  had  sent  for  me 
To  take  them  over. 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


185 


SALADIN. 

Well,  in  any  case, 

You’ll  pay  a thousand  dinars  unto  Sittah. 

AL  HAFI. 

What ! pay  instead  of  get ; well,  that  is  good  ; 
Why,  this  is  something  worse  than  getting 
nought. 

To  Sittah,  too, — why  that?  what,  lost  again? 
Once  more  a loser  at  your  chess?  ay,  ay, 
There  lies  the  board. 

SITTAH. 

Perhaps  you  grudge  my  luck. 

al  hafi  ( examining  the  chess-board ; while  saladin 
paces  up  and  down,  plunged  in  thought). 

Grudge  you,  forsooth ! when,  sure,  you  know 
full  well 

sittah  (with  earnest  signs  to  him). 

Hush,  Hafi,  hush! 

AL  HAFI. 

You  grudge  it  to  yourself  !' 

SITTAH. 

Oh,  Hafi,  silence! 

AL  HAFI. 

Were  the  white  men  yours? 
And  you  gave  check? 


’See  Note  23. 


186 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


sittah  (aside). 

Thank  goodness,  Saladin 
Hath  not  perceived  his  drift. 

AL  HAFI. 

Is  it  his  move? 

sittah  (in  his  ear). 

Oh,  Hah,  tell  him  I shall  get  the  gold. 

al  hafi  (still  intent  upon  the  board). 

Oh  yes,  you’ll  get  it  as  you  always  do. 

SITTAH. 

How!  are  you  mad? 

AL  HAFI. 

The  game’s  not  over  yet; 
Why,  Saladin,  you’ve  still  a chance  to  win. 

saladin  ( with  abrupt  indifference) . 

No  matter,  pay  the  money  to  her. 

al  hafi. 

Pay ! 

Why,  there’s  your  queen  ! 

saladin  (testily) 

Ay,  but  she  doesn’t  count ; 

She’s  lost. 

sittah  (aside  to  al  hafi). 

Oh,  Hafi,  make  believe  at  least, 
And  say  that  I may  send  to  fetch  the  gold. 


Sc.  iL 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


187 


al  hafi  ( absorbed  in  contemplation  of  the  board). 
Just  so,  as  formerly. — But  though  the  queen 
May  count  no  longer,  yet  in  spite  of  that 
Saladin  is  not  mate. 


Saladin  ( stepping  forward  and  dashing  down  the 
chess-board ). 

Oh  yes,  I am, 

And  choose  to  be  so. 


AL  HAFI. 

Well,  then,  please  yourself ; 
Your  play  is  like  your  payment  of  the  stakes. 
Both  sham  alike. 

SALADIN  (to  SITTAH). 

What’s  this  he  mutters  now? 


sittah  ( while  she  makes  signs  to  al  hafi). 
You  know  him  surely,  prone  to  bristle  up, 
Exacting,  nay,  a trifle  jealous  too. 


saladin. 

Jealous  of  you!  my  sister!  sure  not  that; 

Hafi,  what’s  this, — you  jealous? 

AL  HAFI. 

Well,  perhaps 

It  may  be  so.  I’d  gladly  have  her  brain, 

And  gladly  have  her  heart  as  well. 


SITTAH. 


Howbeit, 

As  yet  he’s  ever  paid  my  claims  in  full ; 


188 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


And  will  do  so  to-day,  misdoubt  him  not; 
Now  go,  A1  Hafi,  go;  I fain  would  send 
To  fetch  the  gold. 

AL  HAFI. 

No ; I’ll  no  longer  play 
A farce  like  this ; he’s  sure  to  find  it  out 
Sooner  or  later. 


SALADIN. 

Find  out  what,  and  whom? 

SITTAH. 

Was  this  your  promise,  Hafi?  is  it  thus 
You  keep  your  word? 

AL  HAFI. 

Well,  well,  but  could  I guess 
The  jest  would  go  so  far? 

SALADIN. 

Come,  out  with  it ! 


SITTAH. 

A1  Hafi,  I implore  you  be  discreet. 

SALADIN. 

Nay,  this  is  something  strange;  what  can  it  be 
Sittah  so  vehemently  deprecates, 

So  passionately  of  a stranger  begs ; 

Ay,  of  a Dervish,  rather  than  of  me 
Her  brother? — Hafi,  I command  you  now 
To  tell  me  what  it  is — speak,  Dervish,  speak! 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


189 


AL  HAFI. 

Not  only  has  she  ta’en 
Nothing  from  me 

SALADIN. 

The  noble  girl  has  made 
Advances  in  addition! — is  it  so? 

AL  HAFI. 

Ay,  she’s  maintained  the  cost  of  all  your  court; 
Unaided  paid  your  whole  expenditure. 

saladin  ( embracing  sittah). 

Ah  that  indeed  is  like  you,  sister  mine! 

SITTAH. 

Who  but  my  brother  made  me  rich  enough 
To  do  so? 

AL  HAFI. 

Ay,  and  soon  he’ll  make  of  her 
A pauper  like  himself. 

SALADIN. 

A pauper — I ! 

When  had  I ever  more  or  less  than  now? 

A robe,  a sword,  a charger,  and  a God ; 
What  need  I more?  and  these  I ne’er  can  lack. 
And  yet,  A1  Hafi,  I could  scold  you  too. 

SITTAH. 

Oh,  brother,  scold  him  not — I would  to  God 
That  I could  thus  allay  our  father’s  cares. 


190 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


SITTAH. 

My  brother,  suffer  not  a little  thing 
To  move  you  more  than  it  is  meet  it  should. 
You  know  right  well  I have  full  many  a time 
Won  just  as  much  as  this  from  you  at  chess ; 
But  since  just  now  I do  not  need  the  gold, 
And  since  just  now  the  gold  in  Hafi’s  chest 
Is  none  too  plentiful,  I’ve  let  it  stand 
Unpaid  as  yet;  but  be  you  well  assured 
I am  not  minded,  brother,  to  bestow 
My  gains  on  you,  or  Hafi,  or  his  chest. 

AL  HAFI. 

Were  this  but  all ! 

SITTAH. 

Well,  sundry  other  sums 
I’ve  left  as  a deposit  in  his  hands. 

The  stipend,  too,  which  you  assigned  to  me 
For  some  few  months  hath  lain  with  him  on 
trust. 

AL  HAFI. 

E’en  that’s  not  all. 

SALADIN. 

Not  all  ? — then  tell  me  all. 

AL  HAFI. 

Whilst  we’ve  awaited  these  Egyptian  sums — 

SITTAH  (to  SALADIN). 

Why  hear  his  talk? 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


191 


SALADIN. 

Ah,  now  you  dash  my  happiness  again. 
Nothing  is  lacking,  or  can  lack,  to  me; 

But  he  lacks  all,  and  we  all  share  his  lack. 
What  shall  I do? — belike  it  will  be  long 
Ere  Egypt  sends  the  gold, — why  this  should  be 
God  only  knows,  for  all  is  peaceful  there. — 

I can  retrench,  reduce,  economise, 

And  gladly,  when  it  touches  me  alone, 

And  not  my  friends — but  what  can  that  avail? 
A horse,  a cloak,  a sword,  I still  must  have; 

And  nought  can  be  abated  from  my  God ; 

He  is  content  with  such  a little  thing; 

My  heart  alone — Hafi,  I counted  much 
Upon  your  surplus. 

AL  HAFI. 

Surplus  ! — say  yourself 
If  you  would  not  have  had  me  soon  impaled, 
Or  strangled  at  the  least,  had  I been  caught 
With  surpluses — downright  embezzlement1 
Had  been  a safer  thing  to  venture  on. 

SALADIN. 

Well,  what  must  now  be  done?  Say,  could  you 
not 

Have  borrowed  first  of  all  from  some  one  else 
Than  Sittah  ? 

SITTAH. 

Brother,  think  you  I’d  be  robbed 


1See  Note  24. 


192 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


Of  such  a privilege — and  that  by  him? 

I still  would  claim  it — I am  not  as  yet 
Entirely  stranded. 

SALADIN. 

Not  entirely  yet ! 

That  still  was  wanting  to  complete  the  wrong. 
Haste  you,  A1  Hafi,  go  forthwith — contrive ; 
Collect  from  whom  you  can  and  how  you  can  ; 
Go,  borrow,  promise  ; only  borrow  not 
From  those  whom  I’ve  enriched;  to  ask  from 
them 

Might  look  like  reclamation  of  my  gifts. 

Go  to  the  greediest,  such  are  ever  sure 
Most  readily  to  lend,  since  well  they  know 
How  well  their  moneys  fatten  in  my  hands. 

AL  HAFI. 

I know  none  such. 

SITTAH. 

It  just  occurs  to  me 

I’ve  somehow  heard,  A1  Hafi,  that  your  friend 
Has  now  returned. 

al  hafi  ( zuitli  surprise). 

My  friend,  say  you,  my  friend? 
And  who  might  that  be? 

SITTAH. 

Your  belauded  Jew. 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


193 


AL  HAFI. 

A Jew — belauded — and  by  me? 

SITTAH. 

The  man — 

How  well  I recollect  your  very  words — 
The  man  to  whom  his  God  had  richly  given 
At  once  the  greatest  of  all  earthly  gifts 
And  the  most  worthless. 


AL  HAFI. 

Said  I so? — by  that 
I wonder  what  I could  have  meant. 


SITTAH. 


You  meant 

That  wisdom  was  the  greatest  gift  of  God, 
Riches  the  smallest. 


AL  HAFI. 

What ! this  of  a Jew ! 
When  could  I e’er  have  said  so  of  a Jew? 

SITTAH. 

You  said  it  of  your  Nathan — sure  you  did. 
AL  HAFI. 

Of  Nathan?  well,  of  him  perhaps  I did; 

I did  not  think  of  him.  But  is  it  true 
That  he  is  once  more  home  again  at  last? 
If  so,  you  may  be  sure  he’s  prospered  well ; 


194 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


Ay,  ay,  his  folk  have  dubbed  him  long  the 
Wise, 

The  Rich  as  well. 

SITTAH. 

They  call  him  now  the  Rich 
More  than  they  ever  did ; the  city  rings 
With  tidings  of  the  rich  and  costly  wares 
He  now  has  brought. 

AL  HAFI. 

If  he’s  once  more  the  Rich, 
Then  of  a truth  he’ll  be  once  more  the  Wise. 

SITTAH. 

What  think  you,  Hafi,  why  not  go  to  /z/ra? 

AL  HAFI. 

For  what? — to  borrow? — ah,  you  little  know 
What  Nathan  is — he  lend! — his  wisdom  lies 
Just  in  the  fact  that  he  will  lend  to  none. 

SITTAH. 

Yet,  Hafi,  formerly  you  drew  of  him 
A very  different  picture. 

AL  HAFI. 

Well,  at  need 

He’ll  lend  you  wares — but  gold — oh  never 
that ; 

Oh  no,  not  gold.  And  yet  in  other  points, 
He  is  a Jew  unlike  all  other  Jews; 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


195 


Has  common  sense,  knows  life,  plays  well  at 
chess ; 

Yet  he  excels  in  bad  as  well  as  good 
All  other  Jews  besides — count  not  on  him. 

He  gives  unto  the  poor,  ’tis  true,  and  gives 
As  much  perhaps  as  Saladin  himself, 

Or  if  not  quite  as  much,  as  willingly ; 

Without  distinction,  too,  since  Frank  and  Jew, 
Parsee  and  Mussulman,  are  all  alike 
To  Nathan. 

SITTAH. 

Say  you  so? 

SALADIN. 

How  comes  it  then 

That  I’ve  ne’er  heard  before  of  such  a man? 

SITTAH. 

Would  he  refuse  to  lend  to  Saladin? 

To  Saladin  who  asks  for  others’  needs, 

And  never  for  his  own. 

AL  HAFI. 

Ay,  here  again 

You  see  the  Jew,  the  common  sordid  Jew. 

Trust  me,  where  generosity  comes  in 
He’s  downright  jealous  of  all  other  men, 

As  if  he  fain  would  draw  unto  himself 
Each  God  reward  you  that’s  exclaimed  on 
earth ; 

And  for  this  very  cause  he  lends  to  none 


196 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


That  he  may  ever  have  the  means  to  give. 
Since  charity’s  commanded  by  his  law, 

Not  mere  complaisance,  charity  itself 
Makes  him  the  most  ungracious  churl  on  earth. 
’Tis  true  that  he  and  I for  some  time  back 
Have  been  a trifle  strange,  but  never  think 
That  I for  this  would  do  him  any  wrong; 

He’s  good  for  all  things  else,  but  not  for  this, 

Not  for  a lender.  Now  I’ll  go  at  once 

And  knock  at  other  doors — ay,  sure  enough, 

I now  bethink  me  of  a certain  Moor 
Who’s  rich  and  greedy  too.  I’ll  go  to  him. 

SITTAH. 

But,  Hafi,  why  such  haste? 

SALADIN. 

E’en  let  him  go. 


Scene  III. — Saladin  and  Sittah. 

SITTAH. 

He  hastes  away  as  if  his  only  wish 
Were  to  escape.  I wonder  what  he  means; 
Think  you  he  honestly  decried  the  Jew, 

Or  that  he  only  seeks  to  put  us  off? 

SALADIN. 

Why  ask  me  this?  I hardly  know  as  yet 
Of  whom  you  talked — until  this  very  day 


Sc.  iii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


197 


I never  heard  the  name  of  this  your  Jew, 

Your  Nathan. 

SITTAH. 

Is  it  possible  a man 

Should  be  unknown  to  you,  of  whom  ’tis  said 
He  hath  ransacked  the  tombs  of  Solomon 
And  David  too;  and  by  a word  of  might, 

A secret  spell,  hath  power  to  burst  their  seals ; 
From  thence  he  brings  to  light,  from  time  to 
time, 

The  boundless  stores  of  riches  which  bespeak 
No  lesser  source  than  these. 

SALADXN. 

Nay,  if  the  man 
Hath  dug  his  boundless  riches  out  of  tombs, 
Be  sure  it  was  not  out  of  Solomon’s 
Or  David’s  either, — they  but  hold  the  bones 
Of  fools 

SITTAH. 

Or  miscreants,  perhaps — and  yet, 
Whate’er  the  source,  ’tis  more  productive  far, 
More  inexhaustible,  than  Mammon’s  cave. 

SALADIN. 

Ay,  for  he  is  a trader,  as  I heard. 

SITTAH. 

His  dromedaries  fare  on  every  track 
And  plod  each  desert’s  sands;  his  barks  are 
moored 


198 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


In  every  haven — this  A1  Hafi’s  self 
Hath  often  told  me ; adding  with  delight 
How  grandly  and  how  nobly  this  his  friend 
Employs  the  wealth  he  doth  not  scorn  to  win 
With  such  sagacity  and  diligence; 

How  free  his  soul  from  every  prejudice  ; 

To  virtue  how  accessible  his  heart, 

And  how  in  harmony  with  all  that’s  fair. 

SALADIN. 

And  yet  he  spoke  so  doubtfully  but  now, 

So  coldly  of  him. 

SITTAH. 

No,  not  coldly,  yet 

He  seemed  in  doubt,  as  if  he  ventured  not 
To  praise  him  overmuch,  yet  had  no  mind 
To  blame  him  overmuch  without  a cause. 

Can  it  be  possible  that  e’en  the  best 
Of  all  his  race  is  powerless  to  shun 
The  foibles  of  his  race;  and  that,  for  this, 

A1  Hafi  truly  had  to  blush  for  him? 

Howe’er  it  be,  whether  he’s  more  than  Jew 
Or  less,  he’s  rich  ; and  that’s  enough  for  us. 

SALADIN. 

But,  sister,  sure  you  would  not  take  his  wealth 
By  downright  force? 

SITTAH. 

What  mean  you,  then,  by  force? 
By  fire  and  sword,  belike?  Oh  no,  not  that. 


Sc.  iv. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


199 


What  force,  forsooth,  is  needful  with  the  weak 
Save  their  own  weakness  ? But  now  come  with 
me 

To  my  own  private  chamber;  there  you’ll  hear 
A songstress  whom  I purchased  yesterday; 
Meanwhile  a scheme  may  ripen  in  my  brain 
I’ve  planned  for  working  on  this  Nathan — 
come. 


Scene  IV. — In  front  of  Nathan’s  house,  adjoining 
the  grove  of  palm  trees.  Nathan  and  Recha  is- 
suing from  the  house.  Daya,  later,  meeting  them. 

RECHA. 

Oh  father,  you  have  tarried  long — I fear 
That  you’ll  no  longer  find  him  there. 

NATHAN. 

Well,  well, 

If  he’s  no  longer  there  beneath  the  palms, 

We’ll  find  him  somewhere  else — be  calm, — see 
there, 

Is  that  not  Daya  coming  to  us? 

RECHA. 

Ay. 

I fear  she  must  have  lost  him  quite. 


200 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


Not  quite. 


NATHAN. 


Oh,  no, 


RECHA. 

If  not,  she  would  not  come  so  slow. 


NATHAN. 

She  has  not  seen  us  yet. 

RECHA. 

But  now  she  does. 


NATHAN. 

And  doubles  now  her  speed — see,  see — be  calm ; 

I pray  you  to  be  calm. 

RECHA. 

What!  would  you  wish 
To  have  a daughter  capable  of  calm 
In  such  a case — regardless  of  the  lot 
Of  him  who  saved  a life  that’s  dear  to  her 
Only  because  she  owed  it  first  to  you? 

NATHAN. 

I would  not  have  you  other  than  you  are, 

E’en  if  I knew  that  now  your  soul  was  stirred 
By  feelings  of  another  kind. 

RECHA. 

What  kind? 

What  mean  you,  father? 


Sc.  iv. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


201 


NATHAN. 

Need  you  ask  of  me? 
So  coyly  too — so  timidly  of  me? 

Whatever  may  be  passing  in  your  breast 
Is  Nature’s  blameless  working — never  fear 
E’en  as  I fear  not — only  promise  me, 

If  e’er  your  heart  should  speak  in  plainer  tones, 
You  will  not  hide  from  me  the  lightest  wish 
That  it  may  form. 


RECHA. 

I tremble  at  the  thought 
That  e’er  my  heart  could  shroud  itself  from  you. 

NATHAN. 

No  more  of  this — ’tis  settled  once  for  all 

But  here  comes  Daya — well,  what  news  of  him? 

DAYA. 

He  still  is  pacing  underneath  the  palms, 

And  soon  he’ll  pass  beside  yon  wall — see  there, 
He’s  coming  now. 


RECHA. 

He  seems  irresolute 
Whether  to  go  straight  on  or  back  again ; 
To  right  or  left. 

DAYA. 

No,  no,  he  sometimes  goes 
Round  by  the  cloister — seldom,  it  is  true, 


202 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


But  if  he  does,  he  then  must  pass  this  way; 
What  will  you  wager  on’t? 

RECHA. 

You’re  right,  you’re  right! 
But  did  you  speak  with  him,  and  what’s  his 
mood? 

DAYA. 

Just  as  it  ever  is. 

NATHAN. 

Then  have  a care 

Lest  he  perceive  you — step  a little  back; 

Or,  better  still,  return,  and  go  within. 

RECHA. 

Oh  for  another  look — plague  on  that  copse 
Which  robs  me  of  him  now  1 

DAYA. 

Come,  come, 

Your  father’s  right;  if  he  should  see  you  here, 
The  chances  are  he’ll  disappear  at  once. 

RECHA. 

That  odious,  odious  copse  ! 

NATHAN. 

If  suddenly 

He  should  emerge  from  it,  he  cannot  fail 
To  see  you  where  you  stand,  so  go  at  once ; 

I pray  you  to  be  gone. 


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fa*' 

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fc/bfZ*  *&/f~Xy  y/ *V  **y  ^ Jp/  **%  ^ . 

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Facsimile  of  a page  of  the  first  draft  of  the  Poem,  in  possession  of  a member 
of  the  Mendelssohn  family  in  Berlin. 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


203 


DAYA. 

Come,  come,  I know 
A lattice  whence  we’ll  see  them. 

RECHA. 

Be  it  so. 

(Recha  and  Daya  return  to  the  house.) 


Scene  V. — Nathan,  and  presently  the  Templar. 

NATHAN. 

I almost  shrink  from  this  eccentric  boy; 

His  rugged  virtues  well-nigh  make  me  start. 
Strange  that  one  man  should  have  the  subtle 
power 

To  move  and  agitate  another  thus ! 

Ha!  here  he  comes — by  Heaven,  he  is  indeed 
A manly  youngster — ay,  I like  him  well, 

His  bold  defiant  look,  his  jaunty  step; 

What  though  the  shell  be  rough,  the  kernel,  sure, 
Will  not  be  that — I’ve  somewhere  seen  his  like. 

{To  the  Templar.) 

Forgive  me,  noble  Frank. 

TEMPLAR. 

For  what? 


NATHAN. 


I pray- 


204 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


TEMPLAR. 

What,  Jew? 


NATHAN. 

For  license  to  accost  you,  sir. 

TEMPLAR. 

Can  I prevent  it — well,  at  least  be  brief. 

NATHAN. 

Oh  stay ; oh  hasten  not  so  proudly  on ; 

Oh  pass  not  with  such  lofty  scorn  a man 
Whom  you  have  made  your  debtor  evermore ! 

TEMPLAR. 

How  so? — Ah,  now  I guess — belike  you  are 

NATHAN. 

Nathan’s  my  name — I’m  father  of  the  maid 
Your  reckless  courage  rescued  from  the  flames; 
I come  to 


TEMPLAR. 

If  to  thank  me,  pray  forbear; 
I’ve  had  to  bear  too  great  a load  of  thanks 
Already  for  this  trifle — and  besides 
You  owe  me  nothing.  Think  you  that  I knew 
The  maid  you  speak  of  was  a child  of  yours? 
A Templar’s  duty  is  to  render  help 
To  every  fellow-creature  in  distress. 
Moreover,  when  I did  the  deed,  my  life 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


205 


Was  but  a burden  to  me,  and  I seized 
I gladly  seized,  the  opportunity 
To  risk  it  for  another,  even  though 
’Twere  but  a Jewish  girl. 

NATHAN. 

’Tis  grandly  said ; 

Grand,  yet  forbidding! — still,  I comprehend 
The  turn  you  give  it — modest  heroism 
Takes  refuge  oft  behind  forbidding  forms 
To  shun  our  admiration.  If  you  spurn 
The  tribute  of  my  thanks,  what  other  meed 
Would  you  scorn  less? — Sir  knight,  if  you  were 
not 

A stranger  and  a captive  in  our  midst, 

I would  not  speak  so  boldly — yet  command 
In  what  I now  can  serve  you. 

TEMPLAR. 

You? — in  nought. 


NATHAN. 

I’m  rich. 

TEMPLAR. 

The  richer  Jew  to  me  was  ne’er 
The  better  Jew. 

NATHAN. 

Yet  haply  could  you  not, 

In  spite  of  that,  bethink  you  of  a use 

For  what  of  good  he  has? — I mean  his  wealth. 


206 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


TEMPLAR. 

Well,  were  it  only  for  my  mantle’s  sake 
I will  not  quite  decline  your  proffered  help; 

As  soon  as  it  is  wholly  gone  to  rags, 

When  neither  stitch  nor  patch  shall  serve  its 

turn, 

I’ll  come  and  borrow  of  you  stuff  or  cash 
To  make  another — nay,  look  not  at  once 
So  black  about  it — for  the  nonce  you’re  safe ; 
The  matter  has  not  come  to  that  as  yet ; 

You  see  ’tis  still  in  tolerable  case  ; 

Only  this  corner  of  it,  as  you  see, 

Displays  an  ugly  mark,  for  it  was  singed ; 

And  that  befell  it  as  I bore  your  girl 
From  out  the  flames. 

nathan  ( taking  in  his  hand  the  singed  corner  of 
the  templar’s  mantle,  and  contemplating  it). 

Alack,  ’tis  passing  strange 
That  this  grim  spot,  this  brand-mark  of  the  fire, 
Should  speak  a better  witness  for  the  man. 
Than  his  own  lips ! — I fain  would  kiss  it,  sir, 
This  spot.  Ah,  pardon  me — I meant  it  not. 

( A tear  falls  from  his  eye  on  the  knight’s  mantle). 

TEMPLAR. 

What  meant  you  not? 

NATHAN. 


To  shed  this  tear  on  it. 


Sc.  V. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


207 


TEMPLAR. 

It  matters  not — ’tis  but  a drop  the  more. 
(Aside). 

Methinks  this  Jew  begins  to  puzzle  me. 

NATHAN. 

Permit  me  for  a moment,  sir,  to  take 
Your  mantle  to  my  daughter. 

TEMPLAR. 

Wherefore  that? 


NATHAN. 

That  she  may  press  her  lips  upon  this  spot, 

Since  now  it  is  in  vain  for  her  to  hope 
To  clasp  your  knees. 

TEMPLAR. 

Jew,  Jew! — or  if  your  name 
Be  Nathan,  well  then,  Nathan,  I protest 
You  fit  your  words  with  wondrous  force  and 
point ; 

I know  not  what  to  say.  Perhaps,  perhaps 

NATHAN. 

Feign  and  disguise  your  motives  as  you  will, 

I see  you  through — you  were  too  generous, 

Too  good,  to  be  more  courtly  than  you  were; 

A melting  maiden,  an  ambassadress 
Too  pressing,  and  a father  far  away ; 


208 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


Ay,  you  were  careful  of  her  fair  good  name ; 
You  shunned  to  try  her — fled  from  victory — 
For  this,  too,  I would  thank  you. 

TEMPLAR. 

Well,  I own 

You  know  at  least  how  Templars  ought  to  feel. 

NATHAN.  - 

What! — Templars  only — ay,  and  only  ought 
Because  their  Order’s  rules  prescribe  it  so? 

I know  how  good  men  think,  and  well  I know 
That  good  men  are  produced  in  every  land. 

TEMPLAR. 

Yet  with  a difference,  I hope? 


NATHAN. 


Just  so, 

A difference  of  color,  form,  and  dress. 


TEMPLAR. 

And  number,  too,  perhaps,  in  various  lands? 


NATHAN. 

Such  small  distinctions  are  of  little  weight ; 
The  great  man  everywhere  needs  elbow-room. 
Too  many,  planted  in  too  straight  a space, 
Resemble  trees  which  bruise  each  other’s  boughs  ; 
The  middling  good,  like  us,  are  found  in  crowds ; 
But  each  must  dwell  in  charity  with  all ; 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


209 


The  knot  must  not  look  down  upon  the  gnarl  j1 
Nor  let  the  topmost  twig  presume  to  think 
That  it  alone  sprang  not  from  mother  earth. 

TEMPLAR. 

’Tis  said  right  well — yet  you  must  know  the 
folk 

Which  slandered  first  of  all  their  fellow-men ; 
Know  you  not,  Nathan,  who  the  people  are 
Who  first  pronounced  themselves  “The  Chosen 
Race”? 

How  if  I hated  not  that  race  indeed, 

And  yet  could  not  refrain  from  scorning  them 
For  arrogance  like  this,  bequeathed  by  them 
To  Christian  and  to  Mussulman  alike, 

Who  too  must  boast  their  God  alone  as  true, 
You  start  to  hear  a Templar  speak  like  this; 

A Christian  and  a Templar;  but  I ask 
When,  ay  and  where,  has  this  fond  dream  of 
theirs 

That  they  alone  possess  the  one  true  God; 

This  pious  rage  to  force  on  all  the  world 
This  better  God  of  theirs  as  best  of  all ; 

Where  has  it  shown  itself  in  blacker  form 
Than  here,  and  now2 — since  here  and  now  the 
scales 

Still  blind  their  eyes?  However,  let  it  be; 

Let  him  be  blind  who  will.  Forget  my  words, 
And  let  me  go  ! 


See  Note  25. 


’See  Note  26. 


210 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


NATHAN. 

Good  youth,  you  do  not  know 
How  much  more  close  I now  must  cling  to  you ; 
We  must  be  friends,  we  must, — despise  my  race 
As  much  as  e’er  you  please — we  did  not  choose 
Our  races  for  ourselves.  Do  you  and  I 
Make  up  our  races? — what  is  race  forsooth? — 
Are  Jews  and  Christians  Christians  and  Jews 
Rather  than  men ? — oh,  if  I’ve  found  in  you 
One  more  for  whom  it  is  enough  to  be 
A MAN! 

TEMPLAR. 

Ay,  Nathan,  that  you  have,  by  Heaven; 
You  have  indeed! — your  hand! — I blush  to  think 
That  for  a moment  I misjudged  you  thus. 

NATHAN. 

And  I am  proud  of  it — for  common  souls 
Are  seldom  thus  misjudged. 

TEMPLAR. 

Uncommon  ones 

Can  hardly  be  forgot.  Ay,  Nathan,  ay, 

We  must  be  friends. 

NATHAN. 

We  are  already  that. 

Oh,  how  my  Recha  will  be  gladdened  now, 

And  what  a bright  perspective  opens  up 
Before  my  eyes  ! Oh,  if  you  knew  her,  sir ! 


Sc.  vi. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


211 


TEMPLAR. 

I burn  to  do  so.  But  see  there — who's  this 
Bursts  from  your  house?  It  is  your  Daya,  sure. 

NATHAN. 

'Tis  she — and  agitated  too! 

TEMPLAR. 

God  grant 

That  nought  has  happened  to  our  Recha  now. 


Scene  VI. — Daya  in  haste  to  the  Preceding. 
daya. 

Oh  Nathan,  Nathan! 

NATHAN. 

Well,  what  scares  you  thus? 
DAYA. 

Oh  pardon  me,  my  noble  knight,  if  now 
I interrupt  you. 

NATHAN. 

What’s  the  matter?  Speak. 
DAYA. 

The  Sultan  sends  for  you — the  Sultan  seeks 
To  speak  with  you — the  Sultan — oh  my  God! 


212 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


NATHAN. 

With  me! — the  Sultan! — possibly  he  wants 
To  view  the  wares  I’ve  brought;  he  must  be  told 
That  few  or  none  have  been  unpacked  as  yet. 

DAYA. 

No,  no — he  would  view  nought;  he  only  wants 
To  speak  with  you,  as  soon  as  e’er  you  can. 

NATHAN. 

Well  then,  I’ll  go  to  him — and  go  you  home. 
DAYA. 

Worshipful  knight,  excuse  us,  I entreat; 

My  God ! we  are  so  anxious  as  to  what 
The  Sultan  wants ! 


NATHAN. 

We’ll  know  it  soon  enough. 

(Daya  goes). 


Scene  VII. — Nathan  and  the  Templar. 

TEMPLAR. 

And  so  you  know  him  not  as  yet ; I mean 
In  person. 

NATHAN. 

Who  ? — the  Sultan — no,  not  yet. 

I have  not  shunned  him ; neither  have  I sought 


Sc.  vii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


213 


To  see  him;  for  the  universal  voice 
Spoke  things  of  him  I gladly  took  on  trust; 

And  even  if  he  equals  not  his  fame, 

Yet,  by  the  sparing  of  your  life 

TEMPLAR. 

Ay,  true, 

I never  can  forget  the  life  I live 
Is  but  a gift  from  him. 

NATHAN. 

Through  which  he  gave 
A double,  nay  a treble  life  to  me. 

This  alters  all  between  us — this  alone 
Has  bound  me  to  his  service  with  a cord 
I ne’er  can  snap.  I’m  all  anxiety 
To  know  his  wishes.  I’m  prepared  for  all; 

Ay,  I am  e’en  prepared  to  own  to  him 
’Tis  for  your  sake  that  I am  thus  prepared. 

TEMPLAR. 

And  I myself  have  never  had  a chance 
To  thank  him,  often  as  I’ve  crossed  his  path. 

'T would  seem  the  impression  that  I made  on  him 
Has  died  away  as  quickly  as  it  rose. 

Belike  he  now  remembers  me  no  more ; 

And  yet  he  must  one  day  remember  me, 

If  it  be  only  to  decide  my  fate. 

’Tis  not  sufficient  that  at  his  command, 

And  at  his  pleasure,  I am  living  still; 


214 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


I’ve  yet  to  learn  according  to  whose  will 
I must  in  future  shape  the  life  he  gave. 

NATHAN. 

Just  so — then  let  me  hasten  to  him  now. 
Who  knows — perhaps  he  may  let  fall  a word 
That  may  permit  me  to  allude  to  you. 
Pardon  my  haste — I may  not  tarry  more. 
When  will  you  come  to  us? 

TEMPLAR. 

Whene’er  I may. 


NATHAN. 

And  that’s  whene’er  you  will. 

TEMPLAR. 

Well  then,  to-day. 


NATHAN. 

And,  if  I may  presume  to  ask,  your  name? 

TEMPLAR. 

It  was — well — it  is  Curd  von  Stauffen — Curd- 
NATHAN. 

Von  Stauffen? — Stauffen? — Stauffen? 

TEMPLAR. 


Surprise  you  so? 


Why  does  this 


Sc.  vil 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


215 


NATHAN. 

Von  Stauffen?  I presume 
That  many  bear  the  name. 

TEMPLAR. 

Oh  yes — or  did ; 

Here  rot  the  bones  of  many  of  the  race ; 

My  uncle’s  self — or  father,  I should  say 

But  wherefore  do  you  ever  scan  me  thus, 

More  and  more  keenly? 

NATHAN. 

Oh,  ’tis  nothing — nought. 
Can  I e’er  weary  of  beholding  you? 

TEMPLAR. 

Then  I will  leave  you  now — the  gazer’s  eye 
Full  oft  sees  more  than  e’er  it  thought  to  see ; 
Trust  it  not,  Nathan ; no,  leave  it  to  time, 

Not  curiosity,  to  make  us  known.  (He  goes.) 

nathan  ( looking  after  him  with  astonishment) . 
‘The  gazer’s  eye,’  he  said,  ‘full  oft  sees  more 
Than  e’er  it  thought  to  see.’  It  seems  as  if 
He  read  my  soul — and  yet  it  well  might  be — 
Wolf’s  stature,  and  his  step,  his  very  voice. 
’Twas  thus  Wolf  ever  used  to  toss  his  head; 

Just  so  Wolf  bore  his  sword  across  his  arm; 

Just  so  he  held  his  hand  to  shade  his  eyes, 

As  if  to  veil  the  lightning  of  his  glance. 

How  these  deep-graven  memories  at  times 
Appear  to  slumber  in  our  minds  until 


216 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


A word,  a tone,  awakes  them ! Can  it  be  ? 

Von  Stauffen! — ay,  Filneck  and  Stauffen — right! 
Soon  will  I look  more  closely  into  this. 
Meanwhile,  to  Saladin.  But,  by  my  word, 
Daya’s  been  listening!  Ho,  Daya,  here! 


Scene  VIII. — Nathan  and  Daya. 

NATHAN. 

I’ll  wager  now  the  hearts  of  both  of  you 
Are  burning  to  discover  something  else 
Than  what  the  Sultan  has  to  say  to  me. 

DAYA. 

And  can  you  blame  her?  You  had  just  begun 
To  parley  with  him  on  more  friendly  terms 
When  Saladin’s  unlucky  summons  came 
And  scared  us  from  the  casement. 

NATHAN. 

Tell  her,  then, 

That  she  at  any  moment  may  expect 
A visit  from  him. 


DAYA. 

Positively  so? 

NATHAN. 

Daya,  I think  I may  rely  on  you. 

Be  on  your  guard,  I pray ; you  shall  not  rue’t, 


Sc.  ix. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


217 


Even  your  Christian  scruples  may  be  stilled 
By  what  may  follow.  Do  not  mar  my  plans. 
Whate’er  you  say  to  her,  whate’er  you  ask, 
Be  prudent  and  reserved. 

DAYA. 

I scarcely  need 
Advice  like  this.  I go ; and  go  yourself ; 

For  see,  I do  believe  the  Sultan  sends 
A second  messenger  to  fetch  you  now; 

Your  Dervish,  your  A1  Hafi,  comes  this  way. 


Scene  IX. — Nathan  arid  Al  Hafi. 

AL  HAFI. 

Ha ! I was  making  for  you  even  now. 
NATHAN. 

Is  it  so  pressing  then,  what  can  he  wish 
Of  me? 

AL  HAFI. 

Who? 

NATHAN. 

Saladin — I’m  going  now. 

AL  HAFI. 

To  whom?  to  Saladin? 


218 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


NATHAN. 

Is  it  not  he 

Who  sent  you? 

AL  HAFI. 

What?  Sent  me — oh,  not  at  all. 
So  it  appears  that  he  has  sent  for  you. 


NATHAN. 

Ay,  that  he  has. 


AL  HAFI. 

Well  then,  the  mischief’s  done! 

NATHAN. 

What  mischief,  Hah? 

AL  HAFI. 

’Tis  no  fault  of  mine; 

God  knows  it’s  not.  What  is  there  I’ve  not  said, 
What  lies  not  told  of  you,  to  stave  it  off  1 

NATHAN. 

To  stave  off  what?  What  mischief  do  you  mean? 

AL  HAFI. 

That  now  you  must  become  his  Treasurer. 

I pity  you,  and  will  not  stay  to  see ’t; 

I’ll  go  this  very  hour — you  well  know  where, 
And  know  the  way,  too.  Is  there  anything 
That  I can  do  for  you  where  I am  bound? 

I’m  at  your  service,  only  charge  me  not 


Sc.  ix. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


219 


With  more  than  such  a naked  wretch  as  I 
Can  take  along  with  me.  I’m  off  at  once; 

Say  quickly  what’s  your  will. 

NATHAN. 

A1  Hafi,  think; 

Remember  I’m  completely  in  the  dark; 

What  means  this  chatter? 

AL  HAFI. 

I suppose  you’ll  take 
Your  money  bags  with  you. 

NATHAN. 

My  money  bags? 


AL  HAFI. 

The  gold  you’ll  have  to  lend  to  Saladin. 

NATHAN. 

Is  th-at  the  worst? 

AL  HAFI. 

Should  I look  calmly  on 

While  he  from  day  to  day  shall  scoop  your 
chests. 

And  pluck  you  clean  and  bare  from  top  to  toe? 
Should  I look  on  while  his  extravagance 
From  prudent  bounty’s  else  unfailing  stores 
Shall  borrow,  borrow,  borrow,  till  the  mice, 
The  very  mice,  poor  things,  that  dwell  therein 
Shall  die  of  hunger?  Do  you  haply  think 


220 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


That  he  who  wants  your  gold’s  a likely  man 
To  follow  your  advice? — he  take  advice! 
When  did  our  Saladin  e’er  take  advice? 
What  think  you,  Nathan,  I beheld  him  do 
This  very  day? 


NATHAN. 

What,  then? 


AL  HAFI. 

I went  to  him 

Just  as  he  happened  to  be  playing  chess 
With  Sittah.  Now,  she  plays  a fairish  hand; 
Saladin  thought  that  he  had  lost  the  game ; 

In  fact  he  had  already  thrown  it  up. 

The  board  was  there — I gave  it  but  a look, 

And  found  the  game  was  far  from  being  lost 

NATHAN. 

Ay,  I’ll  be  bound,  a precious  find  for  you ! 

AL  HAFI. 

He  needed  only  to  advance  his  king 
Beside  his  pawn,  to  counteract  her  check — 
Could  I but  show  you  now. 

NATHAN. 

I doubt  it  not, 

AL  HAFI. 

And  then  the  rook  had  held  the  field,  and  she 
Had  lost  the  game — so  I explained  the  case ; 
And  said  to  him — reflect  1 


Sc.  ix. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


221 


NATHAN. 

And  he,  belike, 

Would  not  agree  with  you. 

AL  HAFI. 

Agree,  forsooth! 

He  would  not  even  hear  me ; but  in  fume 
Dashed  down  the  chess-board ! 

NATHAN. 

Is  it  possible? 

AL  HAFI. 

And  absolutely  said  he  chose  to  lose ! 

Chose! — do  you  call  that  chess? 

NATHAN. 

Well,  hardly  so; 

’Tis  playing  with  the  game. 

AL  HAFI. 

And  yet  the  stake 

Was  no  mere  nut-shell. 

NATHAN. 

Plague  upon  the  stake; 
That  was  the  least  of  it — but  to  be  deaf 
To  your  advice — to  shut  his  ears  to  you 
On  such  a grave  and  weighty  point  as  that ; 

Not  to  appreciate  your  eagle  glance; 

That  cries  aloud  for  vengeance — does  it  not? 


222 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  ii. 


AL  HAFI. 

Tut!  can’t  you  see  I only  told  the  tale 
That  you  might  judge  the  sort  of  head  he  has. 

In  short,  I can  no  longer  bear  with  him; 

Here  I’ve  been  hunting  up  these  greasy  Moors, 
To  see  if  any  will  advance  him  gold. 

I,  who  ne’er  played  the  beggar  for  myself, 
Must  borrow  now  for  him!  Your  borrowing 
Is  little  better  than  your  begging ; while 
To  lend,  at  least  to  lend  on  usury, 

Is  little  better  than  it  is  to  steal. 

Among  my  patrons  on  the  Ganges’  banks 

I need  do  neither  ;x  no,  nor  be  a tool 

For  either  purpose.  Ay,  on  Ganges’  banks, 

By  Ganges  only,  are  there  real  men ; 

And  you’re  the  only  one  of  all  those  here 
Who  fits  to  dwell  there.  Come  along  with  me ; 
Leave  in  the  lurch  at  once  your  gold  and  him; 
The  glittering  dross  is  all  he  wants  of  you; 

He’s  sure  to  wring  it  from  you  in  the  end; 

So,  better  make  an  end  of  it  at  once ; 

And  I’ll  provide  you  with  a pilgrim’s  frock.’ 
Come,  come! 


NATHAN. 

Nay,  Hafi,  it  appears  to  me 
We  can  at  any  time  fall  back  on  this. 
Meanwhile,  have  patience  while  I think  it  o’er. 


'See  Note  27. 


’See  Note  28. 


Sc.  ix. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


223 


AL  HAFI. 

What ! think  it  o’er  indeed ! a thing  like  this 
Requires  no  thinking  o’er. 

NATHAN. 

Well,  wait  at  least 

Till  I’ve  returned  from  seeing  Saladin, 

And  said  good-bye. 

AL  HAFI. 

The  man  who  hesitates 
Seeks  only  for  excuses  not  to  act ; 

And  he  who  cannot  instantly  resolve 
To  live  unto  himself,  remains  for  aye 
The  slave  of  others.  Be  it  as  you  please. 
Good-bye,  my  way  is  here,  and  yours  is  there. 

NATHAN. 

But,  Hafi,  I presume  before  you  go 

You’ll  have  to  square  your  treasury  accounts. 

AL  HAFI. 

Accounts,  indeed  ! the  balance  in  my  chest 
Is  not  worth  counting;  as  for  the  accounts, 
Sittah  or  you  will  surely  vouch  for  them. 
Good-bye.  (He  goes.) 

nathan  (looking  after  him). 

I will,  you  rough  but  noble  soul. 

What  shall  I say? — your  genuine  beggar  is, 
When  all  is  told,  your  only  genuine  king. 

(He  goes  in  another  direction.) 


224 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — Nathan's  house. 

Recha  and  Daya. 
recha. 

Daya,  what  was  it  that  my  father  said; 

That  any  moment  I might  look  for  him? 

That  sounds  as  if  he  would  appear  at  once; 

And  yet  how  many  have  elapsed  in  vain ! 

But  wherefore  think  upon  the  moments  passed? 
Let  me  live  only  for  each  coming  one ; 

The  one  that  brings  him  here  must  come  at  last. 

DAYA. 

Plague  on  the  summons  to  the  Sultan’s  court ! 
Nathan  assuredly  had  but  for  this 
Brought  him  at  once. 

recha. 

And  when  the  moment  comes, 
And  when  my  warmest,  my  most  heart-felt  wish 
Shall  be  fulfilled  at  last — what  then? 


DAYA. 


What  then  ? 


Sc.  i. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


225 


Why,  then  I hope  my  warmest  wish  at  last 
Shall  be  fulfilled  as  well. 

RECHA. 

But,  oh,  my  wish ! 

When  ’tis  accomplished,  what  shall  take  its  place, 
Or  what  succeed  it  in  this  wayward  heart 
Which  now  hath  lost  the  very  power  to  beat 
Without  some  dominating  wish? — a void? 

I tremble  at  the  thought ! 

DAYA. 

Nay,  mine  shall  then 
Take  up  the  place  of  yours — my  yearning  wish 
That  you  should  dwell  in  Europe,  and  with  those 
Who  may  be  worthy  of  you. 

RECHA. 

Nay,  you  err; 

The  very  thing  that  makes  you  hug  that  wish 
Prevents  it  from  becoming  ever  mine. 

Your  native  land  attracts  you  to  its  shores, 

And  think  you  mine  should  have  no  charms  for 
me? 

Or  can  the  image  of  your  far-off  friends 
Still  lingering  faintly  in  your  memory, 

Move  you  more  vividly  than  I am  moved 
By  those  I daily  see  and  touch  and  hear; 

My  dear  ones  here? 

DAYA. 

Nay,  struggle  as  you  will, 

The  ways  of  Heaven  still  are  Heaven’s  ways; 


226 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


What  if  your  rescuer  should  prove  to  be 
The  chosen  instrument  by  whom  his  God, 
Whose  champion  he  is,  hath  fore-ordained 
That  you  should  be  transported  to  the  land 
And  to  the  race  for  whom  ’tis  manifest 
Your  birth  intended  you? 

RECHA. 

Oh,  Daya,  dear, 
Must  you  still  harp  on  idle  prate  like  this? 
Your  head  is  haunted  by  the  strangest  whims. 
His  God,  forsooth,  whose  champion  he  is ! 
Whose  chattel,  then,  is  God  ? — what  sort  of  God 
Is  that  a man  can  claim  as  his  alone, 

And  needs  a man  to  be  his  champion? 

And  how  know  we  the  special  spot  of  earth 
For  which  we’re  destined,  if  it  be  not  that 
On  which  we  first  drew  breath  ? — fie,  Daya,  fie ! 
Father  would  frown  to  hear  you  talk  like  this. 
What  has  he  done  to  you  that  ever  thus 
You  paint  my  happiness  so  far  from  him? 
How  has  he  wronged  you,  that  you  ever  strive 
To  mingle  your  indigenous  flowers  or  weeds 
Amid  pure  reason’s  seeds  so  wisely  sown 
By  him  within  my  soul?  Nay,  Daya  dear, 

He  would  not  gladly  have  your  gaudy  blooms 
In  my  heart’s  soil ; and  I must  tell  you  too, 
However  bravely  they  might  clothe  that  soil, 
They  sap  its  essence  and  exhaust  its  force ; 
Their  sickly  odor  makes  my  senses  reel ; 

Your  head  is  more  accustomed  to  their  fume; 


Sc.  i. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


227 


I do  not  chide  you  for  the  stouter  nerves 
Which  render  it  supportable  to  you ; 

It  likes  not  me.  Your  precious  angel,  too; 

How  nearly  had  that  folly  turned  my  brain  1 
E’en  now  I blush  to  think  upon  the  farce 
Whene’er  I meet  my  father. 

DAYA. 

Farce,  forsooth! 

As  if  all  wisdom  were  confined  to  you. 

Oh,  if  I dared  to  speak! 

RECHA. 

And  dare  you  not? 

When,  let  me  ask  you,  was  I not  all  ear 
When  you  extolled  the  heroes  of  your  faith? 
When  grudged  I admiration  of  their  deeds ; 

Or  when  withheld  the  tribute  of  my  tears 
For  all  their  sufferings?  Their  creed,  I own, 
Ne’er  struck  me  as  their  most  heroic  point; 

And  then  I drew  more  comfort  from  the  thought 
That  true  devotion  to  Almighty  God 
Hangs  not  upon  the  fancies  we  may  hold 
As  to  His  nature  or  His  attributes. 

Oh,  Daya  dear,  my  father  hath  so  oft 
Expounded  this  to  us ; and  you  yourself 
So  oft  have  owned  the  justice  of  his  view, 
Why  do  you  seek  to  undermine  the  faith 
Which  you  yourself  have  aided  him  to  build? 
But,  Daya,  this  is  surely  not  a theme 
With  which  most  fitly  to  await  our  friend. 


228 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


And  yet — for  me  it  may  be ; since  for  me 
How  much  depends  on  whether  he,  too — Hark! 
Hark,  Daya,  comes  not  some  one  to  the  door  ? 
Oh,  if  it  should  be  he ! 


Scene  II. — Recha,  Daya,  and  the  Templar. 

an  attendant  ( ushering  in  the  Templar.) 

This  way,  sir  knight! 

RECHA. 

’Tis  he — my  rescuer! 

( Profoundly  agitated,  she  seems  about  to  fall 
at  the  Templar's  feet.) 

, TEMPLAR. 

But  for  the  wish 

To  shun  this  scene,  I had  appeared  ere  now. 

RECHA. 

My  wish  is,  at  the  feet  of  this  proud  man, 

To  thank  my  God  alone — and  not  the  man. 

The  man  desires  no  thanks ; ay,  no  more  thanks 
Than  does  the  water  jar  which  in  his  hands 
Was  busied  in  extinguishing  the  flames, 
Passively  filled  and  emptied  passively, 

With  ne’er  a thought  of  me.  Just  so  the  man. 
Blind  chance  alone  impelled  him  ’mid  the  flames  ; 
Blind  chance  it  was  which  cast  me  in  his  arms ; 
And  there  I lay  by  sheer  mechanic  chance, 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


229 


As  any  spark  upon  his  mantle  might, 

Until  some  other  chance  expelled  us  both 
From  out  the  fire.  What  is  there  here  for  thanks? 
In  Europe  often  wine  impels  a man 
To  stranger  things  than  this;  and  Templars,  sure, 
Are  bound  to  do  no  less — ay,  sure  they’re  bound, 
Like  somewhat  better  educated  dogs, 

To  pluck  alike  from  water  and  from  fire. 

templar  ( who  has  heard  her  words  with  wonder 
and  emotion). 

Oh,  Daya,  Daya,  if,  in  tortured  hours 
Of  care  and  choler,  my  ungracious  mood 
May  have  incensed  you,  why  retail  to  her 
Each  hasty  word  that  then  escaped  my  lips? 
That,  Daya,  was  too  spiteful  a revenge; 

Yet  if  in  future  you’ll  interpret  me 
To  her  in  kinder  terms 

DAYA. 

Methinks,  sir  knight, 
The  little  stabs  you  levelled  at  her  heart 
Have  wrought  therein  but  little  harm  to  you. 

RECHA. 

But  can  it  be  you’ve  been  a prey  to  care, 

And  yet  have  been  more  chary  of  your  grief 
Than  of  your  life! 

TEMPLAR. 

My  gentle,  kindly  child ! 

Oh,  how  my  ravished  soul  is  now  possessed 


230 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


By  eye  and  ear ! This  never  was  the  maid, 

Oh  no,  it  cannot  be  the  maid  I snatched 
From  out  the  fire;  for  who  could  have  beheld 
A maiden  such  as  this,  and  failed  to  snatch 
Her  witching  form  from  out  the  fieriest  fire? 
Who  could  have  hesitated  ? but  in  sooth 
She  was  disguised,  distorted  by  affright. 

( He  pauses,  rapt  in  admiration  of  her.) 

RECHA. 

And  yet  I find  you  just  the  same  as  then. 

( She  pauses,  then  resumes,  to  interrupt  his 
reverie.) 

Now  say,  sir  knight,  where  you  have  been  so 
long; 

And  I might  even  ask — where  are  you  now? 

TEMPLAR. 

I am,  perhaps,  where  I ought  not  to  be. 

RECHA. 

And  been,  perhaps,  where  you  should  not  have 
been ; 

This  is  not  well. 


TEMPLAR. 

I’ve  been  upon  the  mount ; 
Mount — Sinai,  is  it?  Ay,  men  call  it  so. 

RECHA. 

On  Sinai,  have  you?  I am  glad  of  that, 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


231 


For  now  I may  discover  for  a fact 
Whether  ’tis  true  that ( She  hesitates.) 

TEMPLAR. 

Whether  what  is  true? 
That  there  the  very  spot  may  yet  be  seen 
Where  Moses  stood  in  presence  of  his  God? 

RECHA. 

Oh  no,  not  that ; since  wheresoe’er  he  stood, 

He  must  have  stood  in  presence  of  his  God ; 

Of  that  I am  sure.  I only  wished  to  know 
Whether  ’tis  true  that  to  ascend  that  mount 
Is  far  less  toilsome  than  descent  from  it ; 

For  look,  with  all  the  hills  that  e’er  I’ve  climbed 
’Twas  just  the  opposite.  But  how,  sir  knight, 
You  turn  away,  and  will  not  look  on  me. 

TEMPLAR. 

Because  I’d  rather  hear  you. 

RECHA. 

Nay,  methinks 

It  is  because  you  fain  would  hide  from  me 
Your  scorn  of  my  simplicity.  You  smile 
Because  I have  not  asked  you  weightier  things 
Regarding  that  most  holy  hill  of  hills; 

Is  it  not  so  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

In  that  case  I must  now 

Again  look  in  your  eyes.  Why  cast  them  down, 
Or  why  suppress  your  smile  ? Why  seek  to  hide 


232 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


That  which  I fain  would  read  within  your  looks, 
That  which  your  fitful  features  speak  so  plain?1 
Ah,  Recha,  Recha,  well  did  Nathan  say, 

‘Oh,  if  you  knew  her!’ 

RECHA. 

Who  said  that  to  you, 

And  in  respect  of  whom? 

TEMPLAR. 

Your  father  did; 

‘Oh,  if  you  knew  her,’  were  the  words  he  said, 
And  said  of  you. 


DAYA. 

Have  I not  said  it  too, 

And  many  a time? 


TEMPLAR. 

But  tell  me  where  he  is  ; 
Where  is  your  father?  Closeted  as  yet 
With  Saladin? 


RECHA. 

He  must  be. 

TEMPLAR. 

What!  still  there? 

Oh,  I forgot.  No,  no,  he  can’t  be  there; 

He  surely  must  be  waiting  for  me  now 
Down  there  beside  the  cloister.  Ay,  ’twras  so 


’See  Note  29. 


Sc.  iii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


233 


That  we  arranged  together — pardon  me, 

I go  to  fetch  him. 

DAY  A. 

Nay,  leave  that  to  me; 

Stay  here,  sir  knight ; I’ll  fetch  him  here  at  once. 

TEMPLAR. 

Not  so,  not  so;  he  yonder  looks  for  me, 

And  not  for  you.  Besides,  it  well  might  be — 
Who  knows? — it  well  might  chance,  with 
Saladin — 

You  do  not  know  the  Sultan — possibly 
He’s  met  with  trouble ; trust  me,  there  is  risk. 
Should  I not  hasten  to  him? 

RECHA. 

Risk!  what  risk? 

TEMPLAR. 

Danger  for  him,  for  you,  for  me,  unless 
I quickly  go  to  him.  {He  goes.) 


Scene  III. — Recha  and  Daya. 
recha. 

Daya,  what  can  it  mean? 

So  sudden — so  abrupt!  What  drives  him  hence? 

DAYA. 

E’en  let  him  go.  Methinks  ’tis  no  bad  sign. 


234 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


RECHA. 

A sign? — of  what? 

DAYA. 

That  something  works  within; 
Boils  in  his  blood — yet  must  not  over-boil. 

E’en  let  him  be — I think  ’tis  now  your  turn. 

RECHA. 

My  turn?  Why,  Daya,  you  become,  like  him, 

A riddle  to  me. 


DAYA. 

Well,  I mean  that  soon 
It  may  be  in  your  power  to  pay  him  back 
For  all  the  suffering  he  caused  to  you ; 

But  be  not  too  revengeful,  too  severe. 

RECHA. 

You  best  can  tell  the  meaning  of  your  words. 

DAYA. 

But  tell  me,  is  your  calm  restored  at  last? 

RECHA. 

Ay,  that  it  is,  thank  Heaven. 

DAYA. 

And  now  confess 

His  want  of  calm  rejoices  you  in  turn, 

And  that  you  owe  the  calm  you  now  enjoy 
To  his  unrest. 


Sc.  iii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


235 


RECHA. 

If  so,  I know  it  not; 

The  most  I’m  able  to  confess  to  you 
Is  that  it  fills  me  with  astonishment 
How  such  a sudden  tempest  in  my  breast 
Should  be  succeeded  by  this  sudden  calm.1 
His  look,  his  speech,  his  every  gesture  seem 
To  have — to  have — 


DAYA. 

Appeased  your  hunger? 

RECHA. 

No; 

I will  not  say  appeased  it;  far  from  that. 

DAYA. 

Well,  dulled  the  edge  of  it  at  least. 


RECHA. 

Since  you  will  have  it  so. 


Perhaps ; 


DAYA. 

Oh,  no,  not  I. 

RECHA. 

To  me  he  must  be  ever  dear, — more  dear 
Than  life  itself,  though  haply  now  my  pulse 
Flutters  no  longer  at  his  very  name, 

And  though  the  lightest  thought  of  him  has 
ceased 


'See  Note  30. 


236 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


To  stir  my  bosom  with  a swifter  throb — 

But  wherefore  chatter  thus?  Come,  Daya,  come, 
Let  us  once  more  unto  the  lattice  hie 
That  looks  toward  the  palms. 

DAYA. 

So  then,  it  seems, 
The  craving  hunger’s  not  yet  quite  appeased. 

RECHA. 

Nay,  now  I’ll  see  the  palms  themselves  once 
more ; 

Not  merely  him  beneath  them. 

DAYA. 

This  cold  fit 

Heralds  another  fever-fit,  I fear. 

RECHA. 

How  cold?  I am  not  cold.  Can  I not  see, 
With  equal  pleasure,  what  I calmly  see? 


Scene  IV. — An  Audience-chamber  in  the  Palace 
of  the  Sultan. 

Saladin  and  Sittah. 


saladin  ( addressing  an  attendant). 

Bring  the  Jew  here  as  soon  as  e’er  he  comes. 
(To  Sittah.) 

He  seems,  forsooth,  in  no  great  haste  to  come. 


Sc.  iv 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


237 


SITTAH. 

Belike  he  was  not  to  be  found  at  once. 

SALADIN. 

Ah,  sister,  sister! 

SITTAH. 

Saladin,  you  look 
As  if  a battle  were  before  you. 

SALADIN. 

Ay; 

And  one  with  weapons  I’ve  ne’er  learned  to 
wield. 

I must  dissemble  here,  inspire  alarm, 

And  set  my  traps,  and  play  the  hypocrite ; 
When  could  I do  the  like;  where  learned  I that? 
And  all  this  I must  practise  now, — for  what? 
For  what,  indeed?  to  fish  for  filthy  gold; 

Bully  a Jew  to  make  him  yield  his  hoards! 

Is  Saladin  at  last  reduced  to  this? 

To  such  base  practices?  and  all  to  win 
The  very  paltriest  of  paltry  things! 

SITTAH. 

But  even  paltry  things,  when  scorned  too  much, 
Can  take  revenge  on  us. 

SALADIN. 

Alas,  ’tis  true ; 

And  what  if  this  same  Tew  should  prove  to  be 
As  good  and  wise  as  Hafi  said  he  was? 


238 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


SITTAH. 

If  that  be  so,  your  difficulty’s  gone; 

The  snare  is  needed  not  for  such  as  he, 

But  for  your  greedy,  grasping,  fearful  Jew, 
Not  for  your  good  and  wise  one, — this  Jew,  then, 
Were  ours  already  with  no  need  of  snares, 

And  if  he’s  not,  at  least  you’ll  have  the  treat 
Of  hearing  how  a man  like  this  will  speak; 

With  what  audacious  firmness  he  may  strive 
At  once  to  rend  your  toils,  or  else,  perhaps, 
How  craftily  and  with  what  sly  pretence 
He’ll  wriggle  out  of  them. 

SALADIN. 

Ay,  that  is  true: 

I like  the  thought  of  it. 

SITTAH. 

So  nothing  now 

Need  further  harass  you ; for  if  he  be 
One  of  the  common  sort ; if  he  should  prove 
Merely  a Jew  like  any  other  Jew, 

Why,  then  you  need  not  blush  to  seem  to  him 
Just  what  he  fancies  other  men  to  be; 

He  who  could  show  himself  to  one  like  that 
In  fairer  colors,  would  appear  to  him 
No  better  than  a fool. 

SALADIN. 

And  must  I,  then, 
Act  evilly  that  thus  the  evil  man 
May  not  think  evil  of  me? 


Sc.  iv 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


239 


SITTAH. 

Surely  so, 

If  you  can  call  it  acting  evilly 
To  use  a thing  according  to  its  kind. 

SALADIN. 

What  is  there  that  a woman’s  wit  contrives 
That  it  can  not  excuse ! 

SITTAH. 

Excuse,  indeed ! 


SALADIN. 

And  yet  I fear  this  fine  and  fragile  scheme 
May  break  in  my  coarse  hand;  a thing  like  this 
Must  needs  be  worked  as  it  has  been  conceived, 
With  due  astuteness  and  dexterity ; 

But  be  it  so — I’ll  dance  as  best  I may, 

And  yet  I’d  liefer  caper  ill  than  well. 

SITTAH. 

Rely  not  all  so  little  on  yourself ; 

I’ll  answer  for  you,  if  you  only  try. 

’Tis  strange  that  men  of  such  a stamp  as  you 
So  gladly  would  persuade  us  that  the  sword, 

The  sword  alone,  hath  raised  them  up  so  high ; 
The  lion  is  ashamed,  forsooth,  to  hunt 
With  the  sly  fox — but,  then,  he  is  ashamed 
Not  of  the  cunning — only  of  the  fox! 

SALADIN. 

Strange  too  that  women  love  to  drag  the  man 


240 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


Down  to  their  level ! — But  now,  Sittah,  go ; 

I think  I know  my  lesson  pretty  well. 

SITTAH. 

What? — must  I go? 

SALADIN. 

You  would  not,  sure,  remain? 

SITTAH. 

If  not  just  here,  at  least  I’d  like  to  wait 
In  the  adjoining  room. 

SALADIN. 

To  listen  there? 

No,  no,  my  sister,  if  I’m  to  succeed; 

Out,  out, — the  curtain  rustles — here  he  comes, 
I’ll  take  good  care  you  do  not  loiter  here. 

(As  Sittah  zmthdraws  by  one  door,  Nathan 
enters  by  another.  Saladin  seats  himself.) 


Scene  V. — Saladin  and  Nathan, 
saladin. 

Draw  nearer,  Jew — still  nearer — close  to  me; 
And  without  fear. 

NATHAN. 

Nay,  fear  is  for  your  foes. 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


241 


SALADIN. 

You  call  you  Nathan? 

NATHAN. 

Yes. 

SALADIN. 

Nathan  the  Wise? 

NATHAN. 

No. 

SALADIN. 

Well  then,  if  you  don’t,  the  people  do. 

NATHAN. 

The  people? — possibly. 

SALADIN. 

Do  you  suppose 

I think  so  lightly  of  the  people’s  voice? 

Long  have  I wished  to  look  upon  the  man 
They  call  the  Wise. 

NATHAN. 

What  if  they  called  him  that 
Only  in  jest;  and  what  if  wise  to  them 
Meant  only  shrewd — the  shrewd  man  only  he 
Who  rightly  knows  wherein  his  profit  lies? 

SALADIN. 

You  mean  his  truest  profit,  I presume? 

NATHAN. 

Then  the  most  selfish  were  the  shrewdest  man; 


242 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


Then  wise  and  shrewd  would  mean  the  self- 
same thing. 


SALADIN. 

You’re  preaching  what  your  practice  contradicts. 
Man’s  truest  interests,  which  lie  concealed 
From  vulgar  souls,  are  not  concealed  from  you; 
Or,  at  the  least,  you’ve  tried  to  find  them  out ; 
Have  pondered  over  them,  and  this  alone 
Proves  you  are  wise. 

NATHAN. 

Which  all  men  think  they  are. 
SALADIN. 

A truce  to  modesty — ’tis  ever  apt 
To  nauseate  a man  who  only  seeks 
To  hear  a word  of  downright  common  sense. 

{Springing  up.) 

Come,  let  us  to  the  point — but  mark  me,  Jew, 
Be  frank — be  only  frank! 

NATHAN. 

Sultan,  be  sure 

That  I shall  serve  you  so  as  to  be  held 
Worthy  of  further  custom  at  your  hands. 

SALADIN. 

How  would  you  serve  me? 

NATHAN. 

You  shall  have  the  best 
Of  all  I have,  and  at  the  fairest  price. 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


243 


SALADIN. 

Whatever  do  you  talk  of?  Surely  not 
About  your  wares — my  sister  possibly 
May  chafifer  with  you.  (Aside.)  This  for 
Sittah’s  ear. 

In  case  she’s  listening  behind  the  door — 

( Continuing  to  Nathan.) 

But  with  the  trader  I have  nought  to  do. 

NATHAN. 

Then,  Sultan,  doubtless  you  would  wish  to  learn 
If  in  my  wanderings  I’ve  noted  aught 
Touching  the  plans  or  movements  of  your  foes, 
Who  without  doubt  are  stirring  once  again, 

If  I may  frankly  speak. 

SALADIN. 

Nor  yet  is  this 

My  purpose  with  you.  I already  know 
All  that  I need  of  this. 

NATHAN. 

Then,  sire,  command. 

SALADIN. 

I want  your  teaching  as  to  something  else ; 
Something  far  different — and  since  it  seems 
You  are  so  wise,  now  tell  me,  I entreat, 

What  human  faith,  what  theologic  law, 

Hath  struck  you  as  the  truest  and  the  best? 

NATHAN. 


Sire,  I’m  a Jew. 


244 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


SALADIN. 

And  I a Mussulman; 

And  here  we  have  the  Christians  to  boot ; 

Of  these  three  faiths  one  only  can  be  true; 

A man  like  you  would  never  take  his  stand 
Where  chance  or  birth  has  cast  him;  or,  if  so, 
’Tis  from  conviction,  reasonable  grounds, 

And  choice  of  that  which  is  the  best, — well,  then, 
Tell  me  your  view,  and  let  me  hear  your  grounds, 
For  I myself  have  ever  lacked  the  time 
To  rack  my  brains  about  it.  Let  me  know 
The  reasons  upon  which  you  found  your  faith — 
In  confidence,  of  course — that  I may  make 
That  faith  my  own.  How,  Nathan,  do  you  start, 
And  prove  me  with  your  eye? — it  well  may  be 
No  Sultan  e’er  before  had  such  a whim; 

And  yet  it  seems  not  utterly  beneath 
Even  a Sultan’s  notice.  Speak  then,  speak; 

Or  haply  you  would  wish  a little  space 
To  think  it  over — well,  I give  it  you. — 
(Aside.) 

I’d  like  to  know  if  Sittah’s  listening  now; 

I’ll  go  and  see;  I fain  would  hear  from  her 
How  I have  played  my  part. — Now,  Nathan, 
think, 

Think  quickly  on  it — I’ll  be  back  anon. 

(He  goes  into  the  adjoining  chamber,  whither 
Sittah  had  previously  gone.) 


Sc.  vi. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


245 


Scene  VI. — Nathan  alone. 

’Tis  strange,  ’tis  marvellous!  what  can  it  mean? 
What  can  he  want?  I thought  he  wanted  gold, 
And  now  it  seems  that  what  he  wants  is  Truth! 
And  wants  it,  too,  as  prompt  and  plump  as  if 
Truth  were  a minted  coin — nay,  if  he  sought 
Some  obsolete  coinage  valued  but  by  weight; 
That  might  have  passed.  But  such  a brand-new 
coin, 

Vouched  by  the  stamp  and  current  upon  change  1 
No — truth  indeed  is  not  a thing  like  that. 

Can  it  be  hoarded  in  the  head  of  man 
Like  gold  in  bags?  Nay,  which  is  here  the  Jew, 
He  or  myself?  And  yet,  might  he  not  well 
In  truth  have  sought  the  truth?  But  then,  the 
thought, 

The  mere  suspicion,  that  he  put  the  case 
But  as  a snare  for  me!  That  were  too  small! — 
Too  small?  Nay,  what’s  too  petty  for  the  great? 
He  blurted  out  the  theme  so  bluntly  too ; 

Your  friendly  visitor  is  wont  to  knock 
And  give  you  warning  ere  he  beats  you  up. 

I must  be  on  my  guard.  How  best  be  that? 

I cannot  play  the  downright  bigot  Jew, 

Nor  may  I wholly  cast  my  Jewish  slough, 

For  if  I’m  not  the  Jew,  he  then  might  ask 
Why  not  a Mussulman  ? — I have  it  now ! 

Ay,  this  may  serve  me — idle  tales  amuse 
Not  children  only — well,  now  let  him  come. 


246 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


Scene  VII. — Saladin  and  Nathan. 

saladin  ( to  himself). 

And  so  the  coast  was  clear. 

(To  Nathan.) 

I trust  I’ve  come 

Not  too  soon  back;  I hope  you’ve  ended  now 
Your  meditation — tell  me  the  result; 

There’s  none  to  hear  us. 

NATHAN. 

Would  that  all  the  world 
Might  hear  our  colloquy! 

SALADIN. 

Is  Nathan  then 

So  certain  of  his  point?  Ha!  that  I call 
A wise  man  truly — ne’er  to  blink  the  truth, 

To  hazard  everything  in  quest  of  it; 

Body  and  soul  itself,  and  goods  and  life. 

NATHAN. 

Ay,  when  ’tis  needful,  or  can  profit  us. 

SALADIN. 

Henceforth  I’ll  hope  to  have  a right  to  bear 
One  of  the  many  names  by  which  I’m  dubbed, 
“Reformer  of  the  World  and  of  the  Law.” 

NATHAN. 

In  sooth  it  is  a fair  and  goodly  name ; 

But,  Sultan,  ere  I tell  you  all  my  thought, 

Let  me  relate  to  you  a little  tale. 


ADOLF  VON  SONNENTHAL 
The  celebrated  Austrian  actor,  portraying  the  part  of  “ Nathan 


Sc.  vii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


247 


SALADIN. 

Why  not?  I’ve  ever  had  a love  for  tales 
When  well  narrated. 

NATHAN. 

Ah,  the  telling  well, 
That  scarcely  is  my  forte. 

SALADIN. 

Again  your  pride, 
Aping  humility — tell  on,  tell  on. 

NATHAN. 

Well  then : — Tn  hoar  antiquity  there  dwelt 
In  eastern  lands  a man  who  had  received 
From  a loved  hand  a ring  of  priceless  worth. 
An  opal  was  the  stone  it  bore,  which  shot 
A hundred  fair  and  varied  hues  around, 

And  had  the  mystic  power  to  render  dear 
Alike  to  God  and  man  whoever  wore 
The  ring  with  perfect  faith.  What  wonder,  then, 
That  eastern  man  would  never  lay  it  off, 

And  further  made  a fixed  and  firm  resolve 
That  it  should  bide  for  ever  with  his  race. 

For  this  he  left  it  to  his  dearest  son, 

Adding  a stringent  clause  that  he  in  turn 
Should  leave  it  to  the  son  he  loved  the  most, 
And  that  in  every  age  the  dearest  son, 

Without  respect  to  seniority, 

By  virtue  of  the  ring  alone  should  be 

'See  Note  31. 


248 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


The  lord  of  all  the  race.  Sultan,  I ask 
If  you  have  marked  me  well. 

SALADIN. 

Ay,  ay, — proceed. 

NATHAN. 

And  thus  the  ring  came  down  from  sire  to  son, 
Until  it  reached  a father  of  three  sons 
Each  equally  obedient  to  his  will, 

And  whom  accordingly  he  was  constrained 
To  love  alike.  And  yet  from  time  to  time, 
Whene’er  the  one  or  other  chanced  to  be 
Alone  with  him,  and  his  o’erflowing  heart 
Was  not  divided  by  the  other  two, 

The  one  who  stood  beside  him  still  would  seem 
Most  worthy  of  the  ring;  and  thus  it  chanced 
That  he  by  kindly  weakness  had  been  led 
To  promise  it  in  turn  to  each  of  them. 

This  state  of  matters  lasted  while  it  could, 

But  by-and-by  he  had  to  think  of  death, 

And  then  this  worthy  sire  was  sore  perplexed. 
He  could  not  brook  the  thought  of  breaking 
faith 

With  two  dear  sons  to  whom  he’d  pledged  his 
word ; 

What  now  was  to  be  done?  He  straightway 
sends 

In  secret  for  a skilled  artificer, 

And  charges  him  to  make  twro  other  rings 
Precisely  like  the  first,  at  any  cost. 

This  the  artificer  contrives  to  do, 


Sc.  vii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


249 


And  when  at  last  he  brings  him  all  three  rings 
Even  the  father  can’t  say  which  is  which. 

With  joyful  heart  he  summons  then  his  sons, 
But  singly  and  apart,  bestows  on  each 
His  special  blessing,  and  his  ring — and  dies. 

You  hear  me,  Sultan? 

saladin  ( looking  aside  in  perplexity) . 

Ay,  I hear,  I hear; 
Come,  make  an  end  of  it. 

NATHAN. 

I’m  at  the  end  ; 

For  what’s  to  follow  may  be  well  conceived. 
Scarce  was  the  father  dead,  each  several  son 
Comes  with  his  ring  and  claims  to  be  the  lord 
Of  all  his  kindred.  They  investigate, 
Recriminate,  and  wrangle — all  in  vain — 

Which  was  the  true  original  genuine  ring 

Was  undemonstrable 

( After  a pause,  during  which  he  closely  marks 
the  Sultan.) 

Almost  as  much 
As  now  by  us  is  undemonstrable 
The  one  true  faith. 

1 

SALADIN. 

Nathan,  is  this  to  pass 
For  answer  to  my  question? 

NATHAN. 

Sultan,  no; 

’Tis  only  meant  to  serve  as  my  excuse 


250 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


For  better  answer.  How  could  I presume 
E’er  to  pronounce  distinction  ’tween  the  rings 
The  father  purposely  designed  to  be 
Quite  indistinguishable  ? 

SALADIN. 

Rings,  forsooth ! 

Trifle  not  with  me  thus.  I should  have  thought 
The  three  religions  which  I named  to  you 
Were  easy  to  distinguish,  if  alone 
By  difference  of  dress  and  food  and  drink. 

NATHAN. 

But  not  by  fundamental  difference. 

Are  they  not  founded  all  on  history, 

Traditional  or  written?  History 
Must  still  be  taken  upon  trust  alone ; 

And  who  are  they  who  best  may  claim  our 
trust? 

Surely  our  people,  of  whose  blood  we  are; 

Who  from  our  infancy  have  proved  their  love, 
And  never  have  deceived  us,  save,  perchance. 
When  kindly  guile  was  wholesomer  for  us 
Than  truth  itself.  Why  should  I less  rely 
Upon  my  ancestors  than  you  on  yours; 

Or  can  I ask  of  you  to  give  the  lie 
To  your  forefathers,  merely  to  agree 
With  mine? — and  all  that  I have  said  applies 
To  Christians  as  well.  Is  this  not  so? 

saladin  (aside). 

Now,  by  the  living  God,  the  man  is  right; 

I must  be  silent. 


Sc.  vii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


251 


NATHAN. 

Let  us  now  return 

Once  more  unto  our  rings.  As  I have  said, 

The  sons  now  sued  each  other;  each  of  them 
Swore  to  the  judge  he  had  received  his  ring 
Straight  from  his  father’s  hand — as  was  the 
fact — 

And  that,  too,  after  he  had  long  enjoyed 
His  father’s  promise  to  bequeath  the  ring 
To  him  alone — which  also  was  the  truth; 
Each  vowed  the  father  never  could  have  proved 
So  false  to  him ; and  rather  than  believe 
A thing  like  this  of  such  a loving  sire, 

He  was  constrained — however  loath  he  was 
To  think  unkindly  of  his  brethren — 

To  charge  them  both  with  some  nefarious  trick, 
And  now  he  would  unmask  their  treachery 
And  be  avenged  for  such  a cruel  wrong. 

SALADIN. 

Well,  and  the  Judge?  for  I am  fain  to  hear 
What  you  will  make  him  say, — tell  on,  tell  on. 

NATHAN. 

The  Judge  pronounced — Unless  you  bring  your 
sire. 

And  place  him  here  before  the  judgment-seat, 

I must  dismiss  your  suit.  Think  you  I’m  here 
For  solving  riddles? — or  perhaps  you  wait 
Until  the  genuine  ring  declares  itself. 

Yet  stay — you  said  the  genuine  ring  contains 


252 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


The  magic  power  to  make  its  wearer  loved 
More  than  all  else,  in  sight  of  God  and  man ; 
This  must  decide  the  case — the  spurious  ring 
Will  not  do  this — say,  which  of  you  is  he 
The  other  two  most  love  ? — what,  no  reply  ? 
Your  rings  would  seem  to  work  reflexively, 
Not  on  external  objects;  since  it  seems 
— Each  is  enamoured  of  himself  alone. 

Oh,  then,  all  three  of  you  have  been  deceived, 
And  are  deceivers  too ; and  all  three  rings 
Are  spurious  alike — the  genuine  ring 
Was  lost,  most  likely,  and  to  hide  its  loss, 
And  to  supply  its  place,  your  father  caused 
These  three  to  be  made  up  instead  of  it. 

SALADIN. 

Bravo!  bravo! 


NATHAN. 

And  then  the  Judge  resumed — 
Belike  ye  would  not  relish  my  advice 
More  than  the  judgment  I have  now  pronounced  ; 
In  that  case,  go — but  my  advice  is  this : 

Accept  the  case  precisely  as  it  stands; 

If  each  of  you  in  truth  received  his  ring 
Straight  from  his  father’s  hand,  let  each  believe 
His  own  to  be  the  true  and  genuine  ring. 
Perhaps  your  father  wished  to  terminate 
The  tyranny  of  that  especial  ring 
’Mid  his  posterity.  Of  this  be  sure, 

He  loved  you  all,  and  loved  you  all  alike, 


Sc.  vii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


253 


Since  he  was  loath  to  injure  two  of  you 
__  That  he  might  favor  one  alone ; well,  then, 

[ Let  each  now  rival  his  unbiased  love, 

His  love  so  free  from  every  prejudice; 

Vie  with  each  other  in  the  generous  strife 
To  prove  the  virtues  of  the  fings  you  wear; 
And  to  this  end  let  mild  humility, 

Hearty  forbearance,  true  benevolence, 

And  resignation  to  the  will  of  God, 

Come  to  your  aid, — and  if,  in  distant  times, 
The  virtues  of  the  genuine  gem  be  found 
Amid  your  children’s  children,  they  shall  then, 
When  many  a thousand  years  have  rolled  away. 
Be  called  once  more  before  this  judgment-seat, 
Whereon  a wiser  man  than  I shall  sit 
And  give  his  verdict— now,  begone.  Thus  spake 
That  sapient  Judge. 

SALADIN. 

My  God ! 

NATHAN. 

Oh,  Saladin, 

Could  you  but  be  that  wiser  promised  man ! 

saladin  ( stepping  forward  and  grasping  Nathan’s 
hand). 

Dust  that  I am  and  nothingness! — oh,  no, 

Oh,  no ! 

NATHAN. 

What  ails  thee,  Sultan? 


254 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


SALADIN. 

Nathan,  no; 

The  thousand  thousand  years  of  that  wise  Judge 
Are  not  yet  passed;  nor  is  his  judgment-seat 
For  Saladin, — now  go — but  be  my  friend. 

NATHAN. 

And  had  the  Sultan  nought  but  this  to  say? 

SALADIN. 

Nothing. 

NATHAN. 

What  ? — nothing  ? 

SALADIN. 

Nought — why  do  you  ask? 

NATHAN. 

I fain  had  hoped  occasion  to  prefer 
A prayer  to  you. 

SALADIN. 

Occasion? — out  with  it. 

NATHAN. 

E’en  now  I’m  come  from  off  a distant  round 
In  which  I have  recovered  many  a debt, 

And  now  I’ve  almost  too  much  ready  cash ; 

The  times  are  growing  critical  again, 

And  scarce  I know  where  to  bestow  my  gear ; 
So  I bethought  me  you  might  possibly — 

Since  war,  when  at  the  door,  needs  store  of 
gold— 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


fi 


255 


thought  that  peradventure  you  might  use 
A part  of  mine. 


saladin  ( scanning  him  keenly). 

Nathan,  I will  not  ask 
Whether  A1  Hafi  has  been  at  your  ear, 

Or  whether  some  suspicion  of  your  own 
Hath  led  you  of  your  own  accord  to  make 
This  offer  to  me. 

NATHAN. 

Some  suspicion,  sire? 


SALADIN. 

I well  deserve  it.  Nathan,  pardon  me — 

What  boots  concealment?  I confess  that  now 
I was  upon  the  point 


NATHAN. 

To  ask,  I trust, 
This  very  thing  of  me. 


SALADIN. 

Just  so. 

NATHAN. 

Well  then. 

We  now  shall  both  be  suited  equally; 

But  if  I do  not  send  you  all  my  gold, 

The  youthful  Templar  is  the  cause  of  this; 
Methinks  you  know  him.  I have  yet  to  pay 
A heavy  debt  to  him. 


256 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


SALADIN. 

The  Templar — what, 
You  surely  would  not  prop  my  deadliest  foes; 
You  never  would  assist  them  with  your  gold? 

NATHAN. 

I speak  of  this  one  only — he  whose  life 
You  spared. 

SALADIN. 

What’s  this  you  now  remind  me  of? 
Ay,  I had  utterly  forgot  the  youth; 

You  know  him,  Nathan?  Say,  where  is  he  now? 

NATHAN. 

Know  you  not  how  your  clemency  to  him 
Hath  flowed  through  him  in  blessing  to  myself, 
And  how  he  risked  his  newly-granted  life 
To  save  my  darling  daughter  from  the  flames? 

SALADIN. 

Ha!  did  he  so? — he  looked  like  one  who  would; 
That  truly  had  my  Assad  also  done, 

Whom  he  resembles  so.  Is  he  still  here? 

If  so,  then  bring  him  straight.  I’ve  told  so  much 
Unto  my  sister  of  that  brother  dear 
Whom  she  ne’er  knew,  that  I must  let  her  see 
His  very  counterfeit — ay,  bring  him  here, 

And  quickly.  See  how  out  of  one  good  deed, 
Though  ’twas  begotten  of  a moment’s  whim, 
How  many  other  goodly  deeds  may  flow ! 

Go,  bring  him. 


Sc.  viii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


257 


NATHAN. 

That  I will — our  other  pact 
Holds  good  between  us?  ( He  goes.) 

SALADIN. 

Ah,  I now  regret 
I did  not  let  my  sister  hear  our  talk. 

Let  me  to  her  at  once ; though  hardly  now 
Can  I repeat  the  half  of  all  that’s  passed. 

{He  goes.) 


Scene  VIII. — Under  the  palm-trees,  and  near  the 
cloister,  where  the  Templar  is  awaiting  Nathan. 

templar  {in  vehement  conflict  with  himself). 
Here  stands  the  panting  quarry  run  to  earth — 
’Tis  well;  I would  not  now  more  closely  probe 
What’s  passing  in  me,  nor  essay  to  guess 
What  yet  may  pass.  Enough,  it  is  in  vain 
That  I have  fled — and  yet  I could  do  nought 
But  seek  to  flee — now  come  whate’er  may  come! 
The  stroke  o’ertook  me  all  too  suddenly 
For  me  to  shun  it,  though  I struggled  hard ; 
And  now  I’ve  been  constrained  to  look  on  her 
Whom  I so  long  refrained  to  look  upon — 

To  look  on  her! — and  then  the  fixed  resolve 
Never  again  to  lose  her  from  my  sight! 

What  is  resolve,  if  barren  of  result? 


258 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


And  I have  only  suffered  passively. 

To  see  her,  and  to  feel  myself  inwove 
In  all  her  being,  was  a thing  of  course. 

To  live  apart  from  her’s  unthinkable; 

’Twould  be  my  death,  and  wheresoe’er  we  go 
After  we  die,  e’en  there  ’twould  be  my  death. 

Is  this  then  love? — and  does  a Templar  love? 

A Christian  love  a Jewish  maid  in  sooth? 

What  doth  it  matter? — in  the  Promised  Land, 
Land  therefore  ever  to  be  praised  by  me,1 
I’ve  laid  aside  full  many  a prejudice. 

What  of  my  Order?  Nay,  as  Templar  I 
Am  dead — was  from  that  moment  dead  to  it 
Which  made  me  prisoner  to  Saladin. 

This  very  head  which  Saladin  hath  spared, 

Is  it  the  self-same  head  I used  to  wear? 

No,  ’tis  a new  one,  which  knows  nought  of  all 
That  once  was  babbled  to  my  former  one, 

And  bound  me  once ; and  ’tis  a better  one, 
More  fitted  for  my  father’s  native  skies  ;3 
Ay,  that  I feel — now  only  I begin 
To  think  as  once  my  father  must  have  thought, 
Unless  they’ve  told  me  fables  touching  him — 
Fables  perhaps,  yet  credible  enough, 

Which  ne’er  appeared  more  credible  to  me 
Than  now,  when  I would  seem  to  run  the  risk 
Of  stumbling  where  he  fell ; and  if  he  fell, 
Better  to  fall  with  men  than  stand  with  boys. 
His  own  example  guarantees  to  me 
His  approbation : and  what  living  man’s 


1See  Note  32. 


!See  Note  33. 


Sc.  ix. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


259 


Concerns  me  else?  What,  Nathan’s?  Nay,  from 
him 

I well  may  reckon  on  encouragement, 

Not  cold  approval  only.  What  a Jew! 

Who  yet  affects  to  be  no  more  than  Jew. 

He  comes,  in  haste,  and  glows  with  radiant  joy; 
Who  e’er  came  otherwise  from  Saladin? 

Ho!  Nathan,  ho! 


Scene  IX. — Nathan  and  the  Templar. 

NATHAN. 

Ha!  is  it  you,  sir  knight? 

TEMPLAR. 

You’ve  tarried  with  the  Sultan  very  long. 

NATHAN. 

Nay,  not  so  very  long;  in  going  there 
I was  delayed.  Ah,  truly,  Curd,  the  man 
Equals  his  reputation ; nay,  his  fame 
Is  but  the  pale  reflexion  of  himself. 

But  first  and  foremost  let  me  say  at  once 
The  Sultan  wills 

TEMPLAR. 

Wills  what? 

NATHAN. 

To  speak  with  you; 
Wills  that  you  go  to  him  without  delay ; 


260 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


First  come  with  me  a moment  to  my  house, 
Where  I have  somewhat  to  arrange  for  him; 
And  then  to  Saladin. 

TEMPLAR. 

Nathan,  your  house 
I ne’er  again  will  enter  till 

NATHAN. 

What’s  this? 

So  you’ve  been  there  already ; ay,  and  seen 
And  spoken  to  her.  Well,  come,  tell  me  all; 
How  like  you  Recha? 

TEMPLAR. 

More  than  words  could  say. 
But  see  her  again, — nay,  that  I’ll  never  do ; 
Never,  unless  you  promise  on  the  spot 
That  I may  ever  ever  look  on  her. 

NATHAN. 

How  mean  you,  then,  that  I interpret  this? 

templar  ( falling  on  Nathan’s  neck). 

My  father! 

NATHAN. 

What  is  this,  young  man? 

templar  ( quitting  his  embrace). 

Not  son? 


I do  entreat  you,  Nathan. 


Sc.  ix. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


261 


NATHAN. 

Dear  young  man ! 


TEMPLAR. 

Not  son?  Oh,  Nathan,  I conjure  you  now 
By  holy  Nature’s  strongest,  earliest  ties — 
Respect  not  later  shackles  more  than  these, — 
Let  it  content  you  here  to  be  a man; 

Thrust  me  not  from  you. 

NATHAN. 

Dearest  friend! 


TEMPLAR. 


And  son? 

Not  son?  Not  even  now — not  now, 

When  gratitude  hath  built  the  bridge  for  love 
Unto  your  daughter’s  heart.  Not  even  now, 
When  the  two  passions  waited  but  your  nod 
To  melt  in  one?1  What,  Nathan,  silent  still? 


NATHAN. 

Young  Templar,  you  are  too  precipitate.1 

TEMPLAR. 

How  can  it  be  that  I surprise  you  now 
With  your  own  thought?  or  haply  on  my  lips 
You  recognize  it  not — precipitate! 

NATHAN. 

But,  Templar,  this  before  I even  know 

'See  Note  34.  3See  Note  35. 


262 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


Which  branch  of  Stauffens  you’re  descended 
from. 

TEMPLAR. 

What  say  you?  At  a moment  such  as  this, 

Is’t  possible  your  breast  is  stirred  by  nought 
But  idle  curiosity? 

NATHAN. 

Nay,  hear — 

In  former  days  I knew  a Stauffen  well 
Whose  name  was  Conrad. 

TEMPLAR. 

Well,  what  if  my  sire 
Bore  just  that  very  name? 

NATHAN. 

Was  such  the  fact? 

TEMPLAR. 

And  I’m  myself  called  after  him,  for  Curd 
And  Conrad  are  the  same. 

NATHAN. 

My  Conrad,  then, 

Was  not  your  father ; for  my  Conrad  was, 
Like  you,  a Templar,  and  was  never  wived. 

TEMPLAR. 

Oh,  for  all  that 

NATHAN. 

What  mean  you? 


Sc.  x. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


263 


TEMPLAR. 
Have  been  my  father  still. 


He  might  well 


NATHAN. 

Nay,  now  you  jest, 


TEMPLAR. 

And  you  in  turn  are  too  punctilious; 

A fig  for  sneers  at  bastards  and  the  like; 
The  stock,  I trow,  is  not  to  be  despised;1 
But  spare  me  from  my  proofs  of  pedigree, 
And  I on  my  part  will  leave  yours  alone; 
Not  that  I had  the  shadow  of  a doubt 
Of  your  ancestral  tree — nay,  God  forbid! 
For  doubtless  you  could  tell  it  leaf  by  leaf 
Right  up  to  Abraham,  and  from  that  point 
I know  it  and  could  swear  to  it  myself. 


NATHAN. 

Now  you  grow  bitter — do  I merit  this? 

Have  I as  yet  refused  you  anything? 

I merely  shrank  from  granting  what  you  sought 
At  your  first  word — no  more. 

TEMPLAR. 

No  more  than  that? 

Oh  then,  forgive  me. 


NATHAN. 

Well  then,  come  with  me. 


^ee  Note  36. 


264 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


TEMPLAR. 

Whither? — into  your  house? — Oh  no,  not  that; 
I fear  another  fire — I’ll  wait  you  here. 

If  I’m  to  see  her  any  more,  ’twill  be 
That  I may  see  here  whensoe’er  I please ; 

If  not,  why  then  I have  already  seen 
Far  too  much  of  her. 

NATHAN. 

Let  me  now  despatch. 

(He  goes.) 


Scene  X. — The  Templar,  and  presently  Daya. 

templar  (as  yet  alone). 

Ay,  truly,  far  too  much.  The  brain  of  man 
Grasps  such  a world  of  thought,  and  yet  full  oft 
A trifle  fills  it  to  the  bursting  point, 

No  matter  what  the  thing  with  which  it  teems. 
Yet  patience!  and  the  spirit  quickly  works 
The  seething  stuff  into  coherent  thought, 

Clears  all  within,  and  order  comes  again. 

Do  I then  love — and  loved  I ne’er  before, 

Or  was  the  feeling  which  I took  for  love 
Not  love  at  all ; and  is  true  love  indeed 
Only  what  now  I feel? 

daya  (approaching  stealthily  from  one  side). 

Sir  knight,  sir  knight! 


Sc.  x. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


265 


TEMPLAR. 

Who  calls  ? — ha  ! Daya,  you  ? 

DAYA. 

I’ve  just  contrived 

To  slip  past  Nathan  as  I came  along, 

But  he  might  see  us  where  we  stand,  so  come, 
Come  nearer  to  me — here  behind  this  tree. 

TEMPLAR. 

What  is  it  now,  and  why  this  mystery? 

DAYA. 

Ay,  ’tis  about  a secret  that  I come ; 

A double  one  indeed — one  known  to  me, 

And  one  to  you,  sir  knight, — let  us  exchange, 

If  you  will  tell  me  yours  I’ll  tell  you  mine. 

TEMPLAR. 

With  pleasure,  if  you’ll  only  kindly  say 
What  you  regard  as  mine ; but  that,  I trow, 

Will  soon  appear  from  yours;  so  now  begin. 

DAYA. 

What,  / begin?  No,  no,  sir  knight,  not  so; 

You  must  do  that — I’ll  follow — be  assured 
My  secret  cannot  profit  you  unless 
I first  know  yours ; so  quickly  out  with  it, 

For  if  I chance  to  worm  it  out  myself, 

Then  you’ll  have  told  me  nothing,  and  then 
mine 

Remains  with  me,  and  you’ll  have  lost  your  own ; 


266 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


And  yet,  poor  knight,  ’twere  strange  if  any  man 
Could  hope  to  hide  a secret  such  as  that 
From  any  woman’s  eyes. 

TEMPLAR. 

Though  he  himself 
Might  be  unconscious  of  it? 

DAY  A. 

Even  so; 

And  therefore  I must  be  so  much  your  friend 
As  now  to  tell  you  what  your  secret  is. 

But  first  explain  why  you  so  suddenly 
Broke  off  our  talk,  and  left  us  planted  there, 
And  why  you  go  not  now  to  Nathan’s  house. 
Has  Recha  wrought  so  little  on  your  heart, 

Or  haply  has  she  wrought  on  it  too  much? 
Your  bearing  teaches  me  to  understand 
The  frantic  flutterings  of  the  hapless  bird 
Limed  to  the  twig — come,  come,  confess  at  once 
You  love  her — love  her  e’en  to  madness — then 
I’ll  tell  you  something. 

TEMPLAR. 

Madness? — of  a truth, 
You’re  right  enough  in  that. 

DAYA. 

Admit  the  love, 

And  I’ll  condone  the  madness. 


Sc.  x. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


267 


TEMPLAR. 

Daya,  sure 

The  thing’s  absurd  upon  its  very  face; 

A Templar  dote  upon  a Jewish  maid! 

DAYA. 

’Twould  seem  in  sooth  a somewhat  senseless 
thing; 

And  yet  at  times  a certain  thing  may  have 
More  sense  than  we  suppose — nor  would  it  be 
So  unexampled  if  our  Saviour 
Drew  us  to  Him  by  paths  the  worldly  wise 
Spontaneously  were  little  like  to  tread. 

TEMPLAR. 

A solemn  thought!  {Aside.)  If  I but  substitute 
For  Saviour,  Providence,  she’s  right  enough — 1 
You  make  me,  Daya,  more  inquisitive 
Than  is  my  wont. 


Of  miracles’ 


DAYA. 

But,  oh,  this  is  the  land 


TEMPLAR. 

Well,  of  the  marvellous; 

Can  it  be  otherwise,  since  all  the  world 
Flocks  here  together.  Well  then,  Daya  dear, 
Take  as  confessed  the  thing  you  seek  to  know 
I love  her — love  her — and  I cannot  think 
How  I could  live  without  her. 


“See  Note  37. 


“See  Note  38. 


268 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


DAYA. 

Is  it  sure? 

Then  swear  to  me,  sir  knight,  to  make  her 
yours ; 

Ay,  swear  to  me  that  you  will  rescue  her 
Both  here  in  time  and  in  eternity. 

TEMPLAR. 

But  how  ? — how  can  I ? — can  I swear  to  do 
What  is  not  in  my  power? 

DAYA. 

’Tis  in  your  power; 
I’ll  bring  it  now  with  but  a single  word 
Within  your  power. 

TEMPLAR. 

I suppose  you  mean 
Her  father  now  is  willing  to  consent. 

DAYA. 

Father,  forsooth ! — her  father  must  consent. 

TEMPLAR. 

But,  Daya  dear,  what  mean  you  by  that  must? 
He  has  not  surely  fallen  among  thieves ; 

I see  no  must  about  it. 

DAYA. 

Then  he  must 
Make  up  his  mind  to  will  it ; and  he  must 
Gladly  do  so  at  last. 


Sc.  x. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


269 


TEMPLAR. 

What — must,  and  will! 
What  if  I tell  you  I’ve  already  sought, 

And  sought  in  vain,  to  touch  that  chord  in  him? 

DAYA, 

What,  and  he  fell  not  in  accord  with  you? 

TEMPLAR. 

He  broke  into  a most  discordant  note, 

Which  jarred  me  sorely. 

DAYA. 

What  is  this  you  say? 
Can  it  be  possible  you  let  him  see 
The  faintest  shadow  of  a wish  of  yours 
For  Recha,  and  he  didn’t  jump  for  joy, 

But  frostily  drew  back,  and  coldly  spoke 
Of  difficulties? 

TEMPLAR. 

Ay,  it  came  to  that. 

DAYA. 

Then  I’ll  not  hesitate  a moment  more. 

( She  pauses.) 

TEMPLAR. 

And  yet  you’re  surely  hesitating  still. 

DAYA. 

The  man  in  all  things  else  is,  oh,  so  good, 

And  I have  ever  owed  so  much  to  him; 


270 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


But  that  he  should  refuse  consent!  God  knows 
My  very  heart  could  bleed  to  force  his  hand. 

TEMPLAR. 

I pray  you,  Daya,  clear  me  in  a word 
Of  all  these  doubts;  or  if  you  are  yourself 
Still  doubtful  whether  that  you  now  would  say 
Be  right  or  wrong,  shameful  or  laudable, 

Then  hold  your  peace,  and  I will  e’en  forget 
That  you  had  aught  to  hide. 

DAYA. 

That  spurs  me  on 

Instead  of  curbing  me.  So  know,  sir  knight, 
Recha’s  no  Jewess — she’s  a Christian  maid! 

templar  {with  cold  sarcasm). 

I wish  you  joy  on  safe  delivery! 

The  pangs  of  labor  must  have  racked  you  sore ; 
Go  on  with  pious  zeal  to  people  heaven, 

If  you  are  powerless  to  people  earth. 

DAYA. 

Doth  my  announcement  merit  such  a gibe ; 

And  can  a Christian,  a Templar  too, 

And  one  who  loves  her,  feel  so  little  joy 
To  know  that  Recha  is  a Christian? 

TEMPLAR. 

Ay,  and  especially  the  precious  fact 
That  she’s  a Christian  of  your  handiwork. 


Sc.  x. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


271 


DAYA. 

Ha!  is  it  thus  you  understand  me,  sir? 

Oh  no,  not  so — I fain  would  see  the  one 
Who  could  in  truth  convert  her;  ’tis  her  lot 
Long  to  have  been  a Christian  in  form, 

Though  hindered  from  becoming  one  in  fact. 

TEMPLAR. 

Explain,  or  go. 

DAYA. 

She  was  a Christian  child, 

Of  Christian  parents  born,  and  is  baptised. 

templar  (eagerly). 

And  Nathan? 

DAYA. 

Nathan? — she’s  no  child  of  his. 

TEMPLAR. 

What!  Nathan  not  her  father?  Know  you 
well 

What  now  you  say? 

DAYA. 

I know  it  is  the  truth — 

A truth  which  oft  has  caused  me  bitter  tears; 
He’s  not  her  father. 

TEMPLAR. 

Only  brought  her  up, 

And  represented  her  to  be  his  child; 

Reared  for  himself  the  Christian  child  as  Jew? 


272 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iii. 


DAYA. 

Tis  sure  he  did  so. 


TEMPLAR. 

And  she  never  knew 

What  she  was  born — has  never  learnt  from  him 
That  she  was  born  a Christian,  not  a Jew? 


Never. 


DAYA. 


TEMPLAR. 

Not  only  did  he  rear  the  child 
In  this  belief,  but  left  the  maiden  too 
To  grow  in  this  delusion? 


DAYA. 


Ay,  alas! 


TEMPLAR. 

What!  Nathan  could  do  this!  Nathan  the  Wise, 
Nathan  the  Good,  could  e’er  allow  himself 
To  stifle  holy  Nature’s  voice  like  this! 

Thus  to  misguide  the  promptings  of  a heart 
Which,  left  unto  itself,  had  found  a bent 
Far  different!  Oh,  Daya,  what  you  now 
Have  trusted  to  me  is  a thing  of  weight. 

And  may  have  weighty  consequences  too, 

I am  amazed,  and  know  not  for  the  nonce 
What  is  my  duty — give  me  time  to  think — 

Go  now — he’s  like  to  pass  this  way  again, 

And  might  surprise  us  here. 


Sc.  x. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


273 


DAYA. 

Nay,  God  forbid! 

TEMPLAR. 

I’m  quite  unable  to  accost  him  now ; 

If  you  should  meet  him,  only  say  from  me 
That  we  shall  meet  at  Saladin’s  anon. 

DAYA. 

Let  no  reproach  of  him  escape  your  lips. 

This  secret  must  at  present  be  reserved 
To  lend  the  final  impulse  to  our  scheme, 

And,  touching-  Recha,  to  remove  your  doubts. 
But  when  you  take  her  to  your  western  home, 
Leave  me  not  here. 

TEMPLAR. 

We’ll  think  of  it — now  go. 


274 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — The  cloister-alleys  of  the  Convent. 

The  Lay  Brother,  and  presently  the  Templar. 

LAY  BROTHER  ( to  himself). 

Ay,  ay,  the  Patriarch  is  doubtless  right, 

And  yet  the  mission  he  encharged  to  me 
Hath  prospered  scurvily.  Why  must  he  still 
Commit  such  matters  into  hands  like  mine? 

I love  not  to  be  sly,  to  cozen  folk, 

And  poke  my  nose  in  other  men’s  concerns ; 

I do  not  wish  my  hand  in  every  pie. 

Did  I,  forsooth,  withdraw  me  from  the  world, 
Touching  my  own  affairs,  but  to  become 
Entangled  more  than  ever  with  the  world 
For  other  men? 

templar  ( approaching  in  haste). 

Good  brother,  here  you  are! 

I’ve  long  been  seeking  you. 

lay  brother. 

What,  seeking  me? 

TEMPLAR- 

Is’t  possible  you  have  forgotten  me? 


Sc.  i. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


275 


LAY  BROTHER. 

Oh,  no;  I only  thought  it  was  not  like 
That  I should  ever  see  your  face  again ; 

And,  sure,  I hoped  to  God  I never  should ; 

He  only  knows  how  odious  in  my  eyes 
Was  the  proposal  I was  bound  to  make 
To  such  a youth  as  you.  God  only  knows 
Whether  I wished  you’d  lend  a willing  ear 
Without  a moment’s  hesitation,  that 
Which  would  have  been  so  shameful  in  a knight. 
Yet  here  you  are!  has  then  the  thought  revived, 
And  does  it  work  upon  you  after  all? 

TEMPLAR. 

Know  you  for  what  I’ve  come?  I scarce  myself 
Can  tell  you  that. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Belike  you’ve  thought  it  o’er ; 
And  now  you  think  the  Patriarch’s  not  far  wrong 
In  holding  gold  and  credit  may  be  won 
Through  his  proposal ; that  a foe’s  a foe 
Were  he  our  guardian-angel  seven  times  told, — 
All  this  you’ve  pondered  over  carefully, 

And  come  to  offer  him  your  arm.  Oh,  God! 

TEMPLAR. 

My  dear  good  man,  pray  have  an  easy  mind, 

I am  not  come  for  this,  and  not  for  this 
Would  I now  see  the  Patriarch;  on  the  point 
Of  which  you  speak,  my  mind  is  still  unchanged, 
Nor  would  I for  the  wealth  of  all  the  world 


276 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


Forfeit  the  good  opinion  I have  won 
From  such  an  upright  pious  man  as  you. 

I’ve  only  come  to  sound  the  Patriarch 
About  a certain  point. 

lay  brother  ( looking  timidly  around  him). 

What,  you  consult 

The  Patriarch?  a knight  consult  a priest? 

TEMPLAR. 

Ay,  for  the  point’s  a somewhat  priestly  one. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

And  yet  a priest  would  ne’er  consult  a knight, 
E’en  on  the  knightliest  point. 

TEMPLAR. 

Because  your  priest 
Is  privileged  to  err — a privilege 
For  which  we  knights  by  no  means  envy  them. 

I own  that  if  I only  had  to  act 
For  my  own  self,  and  were  responsible 
Unto  myself  alone,  in  such  a case 
I’d  snap  my  fingers  at  your  Patriarch. 

But  certain  things  I liefer  would  do  ill 
According  to  another’s  will,  than  well 
According  to  my  own.  And  yet,  I see 
Religion’s  self  is  but  another  name 
For  party  zeal,  and  e’en  the  man  who  strives 
To  bring  an  open  mind  to  any  theme, 

Still,  without  knowing  it  himself,  upholds 


Sc.  i. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


277 


The  standard  only  of  his  own  belief, 

Blindly  maintaining  that  it  must  be  right. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

I’d  rather  not  discuss  a point  like  this, 

I scarcely  understand  the  drift  of  it. 

templar  (aside). 

Let  me  consider  what  my  object  is, 

Advice,  or  preachment?  simple  common  sense, 
Or  priestly  dogma? 

(To  the  Lay  Brother.) 

Thanks,  good  brother,  thanks 
For  this  good  hint ; a fig  for  Patriarchs ! 

Be  you  my  Patriarch ; ’tis  the  Christian 
Within  the  Patriarch  I would  now  consult, 

More  than  the  Patriarch  whom  chance  hath 
placed 

Within  the  Christian.  The  case  is  this 

lay  brother. 

Oh  sir,  proceed  no  more,  proceed  no  more ; 

You  have  misjudged  me.  He  who  knows  too 
much 

Hath  many  cares,  and  I have  vowed  myself 
To  one  alone.  Ha!  this  is  fortunate, 

See,  by  a happy  chance  he  comes  himself  j1 
Stay  here,  he  hath  already  noted  you. 


1See  Note  39. 


278 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


Scene  II. — The  Patriarch,  advancing  with  priestly 
pomp  along  the  cloisters,  and  the  Preceding. 

TEMPLAR. 

I’d  liefer  shun  him — he  were  not  my  man ; 

A burly,  ruddy,  smiling  prelate,  sure ; 

And  in  such  pomp ! 

LAY  BROTHER. 

I wish  you  saw  him,  sir, 
What  time  he  comes  from  court — just  now  he 
comes 

But  from  a sick  man’s  couch. 

TEMPLAR. 

How  Saladin 

Must  then  be  cast  into  the  shade ! 

patriarch  (as  he  approaches,  to  the  lay  brother). 

Ho,  there ! 

That  surely  is  the  Templar — what’s  his  will? 

LAY  brother. 

I know  not. 

patriarch  ( approaching  the  templar,  while  his  train 
withdraw  to  the  background,  accompanied  by  the 
lay  brother). 

How,  sir  knight,  I’m  wondrous  glad 
To  see  so  brave  a youth — you  are  indeed 
So  very  young;  something,  by  Heaven’s  help, 
May  come  of  you. 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


279 


TEMPLAR. 

Scarce,  venerable  sir, 

More  than  has  come  of  me  already — nay, 
More  likely  less. 

PATRIARCH. 

I would  at  least  desire 
That  such  a pious  knight  may  flourish  long 
For  our  dear  Christendom,  and  for  the  weal 
And  glory  of  the  sacred  cause  of  God; 

Nor  will  this  fail  if  with  due  modesty 
Your  youthful  valor  heed  the  ripe  advice 
Of  prudent  age.  Say  in  what  special  thing 
I now  can  serve  you. 

TEMPLAR. 

With  the  very  thing 

In  which  my  youth  is  lacking — with  advice. 

PATRIARCH. 

Gladly — but  counsel  must  be  followed,  sir. 

TEMPLAR. 

Not  blindly. 

PATRIARCH. 

Who  said  blindly? — of  a truth 
No  man  should  e’er  omit  to  exercise 
The  reason  which  was  given  him  by  his  God, 
Where  it  is  adequate — but  is  it  so 
In  every  case? — oh,  no — for  instance,  now, 
When  God,  through  one  of  His  own  messengers, 
That  is,  through  any  servant  of  His  word, 


280 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


Graciously  designs  to  indicate  a means 
Whereby  we  may  in  any  special  way 
Promote  the  weal  of  Christendom  entire, 

And  on  His  holy  Church, — in  such  a case, 

Who  would  presume  by  reason’s  puny  light 
To  cavil  at  the  absolute  will  of  Him 
Who’s  reason’s  author? — who  would  dare  to 
judge 

The  eternal  laws  of  Heaven’s  majesty 

By  paltry  canons  of  punctilio?1 

Enough  of  this — now  name  the  matter,  sir, 

As  touching  which  you  presently  apply 
For  counsel  at  my  hands. 

TEMPLAR. 

Most  reverend  sir, 

Suppose  a Jew  who  had  an  only  child. 

And  that,  a girl,  whom  he  with  tender  care 
Brought  up  in  all  good  ways,  and  whom  he  loved 
More  than  himself ; and  she  upon  her  part 
Returned  his  care  with  most  devoted  love. 

Well  now,  suppose  ’twas  told  to  one  of  us 
This  maid  was  not  the  daughter  of  the  Jew; 
That  he  had  picked  her  up  in  infancy, 

Bought  her — or  stolen  her — or  what  you  will ; 
And  that,  she  was  in  fact  a Christian  child, 

Duly  baptised;  and  that  the  Jew  thought  fit 
To  rear  her  as  a Jewess,  and  gave  out 
She  was  a Jewess,  and  his  daughter  too. 

Say,  reverend  father,  in  a case  like  this 
What  should  be  done? 


1See  Note  40. 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


281 


PATRIARCH. 

I’m  horrified! — but  first 
Tell  me,  young  sir,  whether  the  case  you’ve  put 
Is  actual  fact,  or  mere  hypothesis; 

Whether  you’ve  but  imagined  such  a thing, 

Or  whether  it  has  really  occurred, 

And  still  continues. 

TEMPLAR. 

Nay,  I should  have  thought 
That,  merely  to  pronounce  on  such  a case, 

It  mattered  not  unto  your  Reverence 
Whether  ’twas  fact  or  fancy. 

PATRIARCH. 

Mattered  not! 

See  how  o’erweening  human  reason’s  prone 
To  err  in  ghostly  things! — it  matters  much; 

For  if  the  case  you’ve  put  be  nothing  more 
Than  some  creation  of  your  sportive  wit, 

It  merits  not  a moment’s  serious  thought. 

And  I’d  refer  you  to  the  theatre1 

Where  points  like  this  are  argued  pro  and  con 

With  no  small  pleasure  of  the  auditors. 

But  if  you’ve  not  been  merely  tickling  me 
With  some  dramatic  quibble — if  the  case 
Be  sober  fact — if  such  a thing  as  this 
Has  truly  happened  in  our  diocese, 

And  in  our  well-beloved  Jerusalem, 

Then,  of  a truth,  sir  knight — ay,  then 


*See  Note  41. 


282 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


TEMPLAR. 

What  then? 

PATRIARCH. 

Then  instantly  the  Jew  must  undergo 
The  utmost  rigor  of  the  penalties 
Which  Papal  and  imperial  law  alike 
Prescribe  for  such  a monstrous  deed  as  this, 
For  such  a scandalous  outrage. 

TEMPLAR. 

Is  it  so? 

PATRIARCH. 

And  know  that  the  aforesaid  laws  prescribe 
Unto  the  Jew  who  ventures  to  seduce 
A Christian  to  apostasy — the  stake — 

The  faggot 


TEMPLAR. 

Ay? 

PATRIARCH. 

And  how  much  more  the  Jew 
Who  forcibly  hath  torn  a Christian  child 
From  its  baptismal  bonds — for  is  not  all, 

All  that  is  done  to  children  merely  force? 
Except,  I scarce  need  say,  whate’er  the  Church 
Does  unto  children. 

TEMPLAR. 

But  suppose  the  child, 

But  for  the  kindly  pity  of  the  Jew, 

Haply  had  perished  in  the  direst  want? 


Sc,  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


283 


PATRIARCH. 

It  matters  not — the  Jew  must  still  be  burnt; 
Better  she  perished  here  in  direst  want 
Than  thus  be  rescued  for  eternal  woe. 

Besides,  what  business  had  the  Jew,  forsooth, 
Thus  to  anticipate  the  hand  of  God? 

Without  him  God  can  rescue  whom  He  will. 

TEMPLAR. 

Ay,  and  in  spite  of  him  can  save  a soul. 

PATRIARCH. 

It  matters  not — the  Jew  must  surely  burn. 

TEMPLAR. 

This  grieves  me  much ; the  more  so  since  ’tis 
said 

He  has  not  actually  reared  the  girl 
In  his  own  faith ; but  in  no  faith  at  all, 

And  taught  her  neither  more  nor  less  of  God 
Than  simple  reason  needs. 

PATRIARCH. 

It  matters  not; 

The  Jew  must  burn — on  this  account  alone 
Well  doth  he  merit  burning  three  times  o’er. 
What ! let  a child  grow  up  an  infidel ! 

Utterly  fail  to  train  an  infant’s  mind 
In  the  great  obligation — to  believe ! 

That  is  too  bad — I wonder  much,  sir  knight, 
That  you  yourself 


284 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


TEMPLAR. 

Most  reverend  sir,  the  rest, 
Please  God,  I’ll  tell  you  in  confessional. 

PATRIARCH. 

How,  sir! — not  straightway  tell  me  all  the  tale? 
Not  even  name  to  me  the  rascal  Jew, 

Or  hale  him  here?  Oh,  then,  I know  my  course, 
I’ll  hie  me  on  the  spot  to  Saladin ; 

In  virtue  of  the  pact  to  which  he’s  sworn 
He’s  bound  to  shield  us  in  the  exercise 
Of  all  the  spiritual  rights  and  points  of  faith 
Which  appertain  to  our  most  holy  creed ; 
Thank  God,  we  still  have  the  original 
Vouched  by  his  hand  and  seal — ay,  that  we  hold. 
’Twill  be  an  easy  task  to  make  him  see 
How  baneful  even  for  the  State  it  were 
For  men  to  have  no  faith — all  social  ties 
Would  be  disorganised  and  rent  in  twain 
If  men  believed  in  nothing — out  upon 
Impiety  like  this ! 

TEMPLAR. 

’Tis  pity,  sir, 

Scant  leisure  will  not  suffer  me  to  hear 
Your  goodly  preachment  out,  for  I am  called 
To  Saladin. 

PATRIARCH. 

Is’t  possible? — well  then 

TEMPLAR. 

I’ll  e’en  prepare  him  for  your  visit,  sir, 
Provided  that  your  Reverence  approve. 


Sc.  iii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


285 


PATRIARCH. 

Oh,  oh,  I know  that  you’ve  found  favor,  sir, 
With  Saladin.  I only  trust  you’ll  put 
The  best  construction  on  me  at  the  court ; 

My  only  motive  is  my  zeal  for  God ; 

Where  I exceed,  I do  it  for  His  sake. 

I pray  you,  sir,  to  weigh  this  matter  well ; 

And  sure,  sir  knight,  I may  as  well  suppose 
That  what  you  said  just  now  about  the  Jew 
Was  a mere  theoretic  problem. 

TEMPLAR. 

Yes.  ( He  goes.) 

PATRIARCH. 

But  one  I now  will  do  my  best  to  solve, 

This  well  may  prove  to  be  another  job 
For  brother  Bonafides. 

(To  the  Lav  Brother.) 

Come,  my  son. 


Scene  III. — A Chamber  in  the  Palace  of  the  Sultan. 
A band  of  slaves  bearing  numerous  bags  of  gold, 
and  piling  them  on  the  floor. 

Saladin,  and  presently  Sittah. 

saladin  ( surveying  the  bags). 

Well,  of  a truth  there  seems  no  end  to  this; 
Doth  much  o’  the  stuff  remain? 


286 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


A SLAVE. 
SALADIN. 


As  much  again ! 


Then  bear  to  Sittah  all  the  rest  of  It. 

Where  is  A1  Hafi  ? he  shall  forthwith  take 
All  this  into  his  charge — or,  better  still, 

Shall  I not  straightway  send  it  to  my  sire? 
Here  ’twill  run  through  my  fingers.  Yet,  in 
sooth, 

A man  grows  hard  at  last,  and  now,  methinks, 
’Twill  cost  some  skill  to  wheedle  much  from  me. 
Until  our  Egypt  moneys  come  to  hand 
E’en  hapless  Poverty  will  have  to  shift 
As  best  it  may.  I only  hope  we  still 
May  meet  the  charges  at  the  Sepulchre,1 
Nor  have  to  send  these  Christian  pilgrims  hence 
With  empty  hands — and  then 


SITTAH. 

And  I would  ask. 

Whatever  shall  I do  with  all  that  gold? 


SALADIN. 

First  pay  yourself  whatever  is  your  due, 
And  hoard  the  rest,  if  any  still  remain. 


SITTAH. 

Has  Nathan  not  yet  brought  the  Templar  here? 


SALADIN. 

No,  but  he  seeks  him  everywhere. 


1See  Note  42. 


Sc.  iii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


287 


SITTAH. 

Well,  see: 

As  I was  turning  my  old  trinkets  o’er, 

See  what  I found  among  them. 

{She  shows  him  a miniature  portrait .) 

SALADIN. 

Assad — ha ! 

Tis  he — ’tis  he — or  rather  once  was  he. 

Ah,  gallant  boy,  too  early  snatched  away, 

By  thy  dear  side  what  was  the  deed  of  arms 
I had  not  blithely  ventured  to  achieve! 

Leave  me  the  portrait,  Sittah,  leave  it  here; 

Ay,  I remember  it,  I know  it  well ; 

He  gave  it  to  your  elder  sister  Lilia 
On  that  sad  morning  when  he  was  so  loth 
To  let  him  leave  her  arms.  It  was  the  last 
On  which  he  e’er  rode  forth — alas,  alas, 

I suffered  him  to  go,  and  all  alone! 

Our  Lilia  died  of  grief,  and  ne’er  forgave 
That  I had  let  him  go  so  all  alone. 

He  ne’er  returned! 

SITTAH. 

Alack,  poor  Assad! 

SALADIN. 

Well, 

One  day  we  all  shall  go,  and  ne’er  return. 
Besides — who  knows? — it  is  not  death  alone 
That  mars  the  promise  of  a youth  like  him; 


288 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


No,  he  hath  other  foes,  to  whom  full  oft 
The  strongest  like  the  weakest  must  succumb. 
Well,  be  it  as  it  may,  I must  compare 
This  portrait  with  the  Templar.  I would  see 
If  fancy  hath  befooled  me. 

SITTAH. 

Tis  for  this 

That  I have  brought  it ; meanwhile,  give  it  me ; 
I’ll  tell  you  whether  it  resembles  him; 

A woman’s  eye  best  judges  things  like  this. 

saladin  ( to  an  usher,  who  enters). 

Who’s  there?  the  Templar,  say  you?  bid  him 
come. 

SITTAH. 

Not  to  disturb  you,  or  confuse  the  knight 
With  curious  glances,  let  me  draw  aside. 

( She  seats  herself  apart  on  a divan,  and  lets 
her  veil  fall.) 

SALADIN. 

Ay,  so — ’tis  well — (to  himself).  And  now,  to 
hear  his  voice ! 

I wonder  how  ’twill  sound — my  Assad’s  tones 
Still  slumber  somewhere  deep  within  my  soul. 


Sc.  iv. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


289 


Scene  IV. — Saladin  and  the  Templar. 

TEMPLAR. 

Sultan,  ’tis  I, — your  captive. 

SALADIN. 

Captive?  how? 

Unto  the  man  to  whom  I granted  life 
Should  I not  also  grant  his  liberty? 

TEMPLAR. 

What  course  behooves  you  it  behooves  not  me 
Now  to  pronounce,  but  first  to  learn  from  you. 
Yet,  Sultan,  surely  it  would  ill  beseem 
Either  my  calling  or  my  character 
To  say  I owe  you  any  burning  thanks 
For  my  mere  life — in  any  case  ’tis  still 
At  your  disposal. 

SALADIN. 

Only  use  it  not 

Against  me — nay,  a pair  of  hands  the  more 
I’m  free  to  grant  unto  my  enemy, 

But  not  to  grant  him  such  a heart  the  more ; 

Oh  no,  not  that.  I find  thee,  gallant  youth, 

All  that  I pictured  thee — thou  art  indeed 
My  Assad,  soul  and  body.  I might  ask 
Where  hast  thou  hidden  from  me  all  these  years; 
In  what  dim  grotto  hast  thou  slept  till  now ; 
What  land  of  Jinns,  what  kind  Divinity, 

Hath  thus  preserved  thy  blooming  youth  so 
fresh? 


290 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


I might  remind  thee  of  the  deeds  we  did 
In  other  days — nay,  I might  chide  thee  now 
For  having  kept  one  secret  from  my  ken; 

For  hiding  an  adventure  such  as  this; 

Ay,  I could  do  it,  if  I saw  but  thee, 

And  not  myself  as  well.  Now,  be  it  so; 

Of  this  sweet  fantasy  this  much  at  least 
Is  solid  fact,  that  in  my  autumn  years 
An  Assad  blooms  for  me  again.  Say,  knight, 
Art  thou  content  with  this? 

TEMPLAR. 

Whate’er  may  hap 

To  me  from  thee — no  matter  what  it  be — 

My  heart  accepts  with  joy. 

SALADIN. 

That  let  us  now 

Prove  on  the  instant.  Wilt  thou  stay  with  me? 
Christian  or  Mussulman,  it  matters  not, 

In  the  white  mantle,  or  the  Moslem  robe,1 
Turbaned,  or  with  thy  beaver — as  thou  wilt, 

To  me  ’tis  all  the  same,  I ne’er  have  claimed 
That  the  same  bark  should  grow  on  every  tree. 

TEMPLAR. 

Else  hardly  had’st  thou  been  the  man  thou  art, 
The  hero  who  belike  had  liefer  been 
A delver  in  the  garden  of  the  Lord.8 


1See  Note  43. 


2See  Note  44. 


Sc.  iv. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


291 


SALADIN. 

Nay,  if  thou  think’st  no  worse  of  me  than  this, 
E’en  now  we’re  half  agreed. 

TEMPLAR. 

We’re  wholly  so. 

saladin  ( offering  him  his  hand). 

Then  ’tis  a bargain ! 

templar  ( grasping  it). 

Ay,  and  with  this  hand 

Receive  far  more  than  thou  could’st  e’er  have 
wrung 

By  force  from  me;  henceforth  I’m  all  thine 
own. 

SALADIN. 

’Tis  too  much  gain  for  any  single  day — 1 
But  came  he  not  with  you? 


TEMPLAR. 

Who? 


SALADIN. 

TEMPLAR  {coldly). 

I came  alone. 

SALADIN. 


Nathan. 


No, 


Oh,  what  a deed  was  yours! 

And  what  shrewd  luck  it  was  that  such  a deed 
Should  work  the  happiness  of  such  a man. 


’See  Note  45. 


292 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


TEMPLAR. 

Mayhap. 

SALADIN. 


So  cold ! fie,  fie,  young  man.  When  God 
Does  good  through  us,  we  should  not  be  so  cold ; 
Not  e’en  from  modesty  itself  should  wish 
To  seem  so  cold. 


TEMPLAR. 

’Tis  strange  that  in  the  world 
Each  single  thing  should  have  so  many  sides, 
Of  which  full  oft  it  cannot  be  conceived 
How  they  may  fit  together. 

SALADIN. 

Ever  cling 

To  that  which  is  the  best,  and  thank  your  God; 
He  knows  how  they  may  fit  together.  Still, 

If  you  must  be  so  scrupulous,  young  man, 
Then  I must  be  upon  my  guard  with  you ; 

I,  too,  unfortunately  am  a thing 

Of  many  sides,  and  some  of  them,  perchance, 

May  seem  to  you  to  fit  not  all  too  well. 

TEMPLAR. 

I smart  at  the  rebuke,  because  in  truth 
Suspicion’s  not  a common  fault  with  me. 

SALADIN. 

Then  say  of  whom  you  entertain  it  now; 
’Twould  seem  ’tis  Nathan.  Is  it  possible? 


Sc.  iv. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


293 


You  suspect  Nathan!  Speak,  explain  yourself; 
Give  me  this  first  proof  of  your  confidence. 

TEMPLAR. 

I’ve  nought  ’gainst  Nathan — no,  I’m  only  vexed 
With  my  own  self. 

SALADIN. 

And  wherefore  so? 

TEMPLAR. 

To  think 

That  in  my  waking  moments  I could  dream 
A Jew  could  e’er  unlearn  to  be  a Jew. 

SALADIN. 

What  mean  you  now?  Out  with  this  waking 
dream ! 

TEMPLAR. 

Sultan,  you  know  of  Nathan’s  daughter.  Well, 
That  which  I did  for  her  I merely  did 
Because  I did  it — it  was  chance  alone. 

Too  proud  to  reap  a crop  of  gratitude 
Where  I had  never  sown,  from  day  to  day 
I scorned  to  look  upon  the  girl  again. 

Her  father  then  was  absent — he  returns ; 

He  hears  the  tale,  and  straightway  seeks  me 
out ; 

Loads  me  with  thanks — declares  he  hopes  his 
child 

Has  won  my  favor;  talks  of  prospects,  prates 
Of  joyous  days  that  possibly  may  come. 


294 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


Enough — I let  myself  be  thus  cajoled. 

I go  with  him — I see  the  maid,  and  find 
Oh  such  a maid.  Ah!  Sultan,  I must  blush! 

SALADIN. 

What! — must  you  blush  because  a Jewish  maid 
Hath  touched  your  heart? — nay,  never  tell  me 
that. 

TEMPLAR. 

I blush  to  think  that  my  impulsive  heart, 
Moved  by  the  kindly  prattle  of  the  Jew, 
Struggled  so  little  against  such  a love ; 

Once  more  I madly  sprang  into  the  flames ; 

For  now  I sued — and  now  I was  disdained! 


Disdained ! 


SALADIN. 


TEMPLAR. 

The  cautious  sire  did  not  indeed 
Flatly  reject  me — but  the  cautious  sire 
Must  make  inquiries  first — must  think  it  o’er. 
He  thought  perhaps  that  I had  done  the  same, 
Made  due  inquiry,  weighed  the  pros  and  cons, 
What  time  his  daughter  shrieked  amid  the 
flames? 

By  Heaven ! ’tis  verily  a splendid  thing 
To  be  so  wise  and  circumspect! 


SALADIN. 

Come,  come, 

Make  some  allowance  for  an  aged  man — 

And  then,  how  long  do  you  suppose  his  doubts 


Sc.  iv. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


295 


Are  like  to  last? — or  think  you  he’ll  insist 
That  you  must  first  become  a Jew  yourself? 

TEMPLAR. 

Who  knows? 

SALADIN. 

Why,  he  who  knows  what  Nathan  is. 

TEMPLAR. 

The  superstitions  of  our  early  years, 

E’en  when  we  know  them  to  be  nothing  more, 
Lose  not  for  that  their  hold  upon  our  hearts ; 
Not  all  are  free  who  ridicule  their  chains. 

SALADIN. 

Ripely  remarked — but  Nathan’s  not  like  that. 

TEMPLAR. 

The  worst  of  superstitions  is  to  deem 
Our  special  chains  the  most  endurable 

SALADIN. 

Perhaps — but,  Nathan 

TEMPLAR. 

And  to  these  alone 
To  trust  purblind  humanity  until 
Its  eye  can  bear  the  brilliant  noon  of  truth. 

SALADIN. 

That  well  may  be,  perhaps,  but  Nathan’s  case 
Is  no  such  weakness. 


296 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


TEMPLAR. 

So  I thought  myself, 

But  how  if  this  same  paragon  of  men 
Should  happen  to  be  such  a downright  Jew 
That  he  has  sought  to  seize  on  Christian  babes 
That  he  might  bring  them  up  as  Jews — how 
then? 

SALADIN. 

But  who  says  that  of  him? 

TEMPLAR. 

The  girl  herself 

With  whom  he  lures  me  on — with  hope  of  whom 
He  fain  would  seem  to  pay  me  for  a deed 
He  would  not  have  it  said  I did  for  nought — 
This  very  girl  is  not  his  child.  She  is 
A kidnapped  Christian  waif. 

SALADIN. 

Whom  ne’ertheless 

He  now  will  not  consent  to  give  to  you? 

templar  ( with  vehemence) . 

Whether  he  will  or  no,  he’s  now  found  out ; 

The  tolerant  prater  is  unmasked  at  last ; 

I’ll  find  the  means  to  set  the  hounds  on  him, 
This  Jewish  wolf  in  philosophic  fleece, 

Who’ll  rend  his  hide ! 

saladin  (mf/i  severity). 

Come,  Christian,  be  calm! 


Sc.  iv. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


297 


TEMPLAR. 

Christian,  be  calm!  when  Jew  and  Mussulman 
May  hotly  play  the  Mussulman  and  Jew, 

Must  the  poor  Christian  alone  not  dare 
To  play  the  Christian? 

saladin  {with  growing  severity). 

Christian,  be  calm! 
templar  ( more  calmly). 

I own  I feel  the  weight  of  the  reproach 
Compressed  by  Saladin  in  these  two  words ; 
How  would  your  Assad  have  comported  him 
In  such  a case? 


SALADIN. 

No  better  than  yourself ; 
With  no  less  vehemence,  perhaps — but  say, 
Who  hath  already  taught  you,  like  himself, 

To  sway  me  with  a single  word?  In  sooth, 

If  all  be  true  that  you  have  told  me  now, 

I scarce  therein  can  recognise  my  Jew. 

Yet  he  is  still  my  friend,  and  all  my  friends 
Must  dwell  in  harmony;  so,  be  advised; 

Proceed  with  caution — sacrifice  him  not 
To  the  blind  fury  of  your  fanatics; 

Breathe  not  a matter  which  your  pious  priests 
Might  well  compel  me  to  avenge  on  him; 

Play  not  the  Christian  to  spite  the  Jew, 

Or  Moslem  either. 

TEMPLAR. 

Soon  it  would  have  been 


298 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


Too  late  to  think  of  saving  him;  but  now 
I thank  the  Patriarch’s  holy  thirst  for  blood, 
Which  made  me  shudder  to  become  his  tool. 

SALADIN. 

How!  went  you  to  the  Patriarch,  forsooth, 
Before  you  came  to  me? 

TEMPLAR. 

Sultan,  I did, 

In  the  first  gust  of  passion,  in  the  whirl 
Of  indecision — pardon  me.  I fear 
You  now  no  longer  will  discern  in  me 
A likeness  to  your  Assad. 

SALADIN. 

Save,  indeed 

This  very  fear  itself1 — methinks  I know 
The  faults  from  which  our  very  virtues  spring; 
Foster  the  virtues  only,  then  the  faults 
With  me  shall  work  you  little  prejudice. 

But  leave  me  now — go  and  seek  Nathan  out, 
E’en  as  he  sought  for  you,  and  bring  him  here ; 
I now  must  see  you  reconciled  to  him. 

And  if  in  very  truth  you’ve  set  your  heart 
Upon  this  maid,  be  tranquil — she  is  yours. 

And  Nathan  too  must  now  be  made  to  smart 
For  having  dared  to  rear  a Christian  child 
In  total  ignorance  of  swine’s  flesh — go. 

( The  Templar  withdraws.  Sittah  quits  her 
seat  on  the  divan,  and  advances.) 

'See  Note  46. 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


299 


Scene  V. — Saladin  and  Sittah. 
sittah. 

Tis  marvellous! 


SALADIN. 

Well,  Sittah,  you’ll  allow 
Our  Assad  must  have  been  a goodly  youth. 

SITTAH. 

Ay,  if  he  was  like  this,  and  if  ’twas  not 
The  Templar’s  self  who  for  this  portrait  sat. 
But,  Saladin,  how  could  you  e’er  forget 
To  ask  him  who  and  what  his  parents  were? 

SALADIN. 

And  in  especial  who  his  mother  was, 

And  if  she  ever  was  in  Palestine; 

Is  that  your  drift? 

SITTAH. 

A precious  thought  of  yours  1 

SALADIN. 

Oh,  nought  more  possible;  our  Assad  was 
So  welcome  amid  handsome  Christian  dames, 
And  such  a squire  of  handsome  Christian  dames, 
That  once,  indeed,  the  rumor  went — well,  well, 
We  would  not  dwell  on  it — enough  for  me 
I have  him  once  again,  and  welcome  him 
With  all  his  foibles,  all  the  fitful  moods 
Of  his  warm  heart.  Oh,  Nathan  must  indeed 
Give  him  the  maid — what  think  you? 


300 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


SITTAH. 


Say,  give  her  up. 


Give  the  maid! 


SALADIN. 

Just  so;  what  right  has  he, 

If  not  her  father,  to  control  her  lot? 

The  man  who  saved  her  life  by  such  a deed 
Alone  can  enter  on  the  rights  of  him 
Who  gave  it. 

SITTAH. 

How  then,  brother,  would  it  do 
To  take  the  girl  at  once  to  be  your  ward, 
Withdrawing  her  from  hands  which  have  no 
more 

The  right  to  keep  her? 


SALADIN. 

Where’s  the  need  for  that? 


SITTAH. 

Well,  not  exactly  need — I must  confess 
’Tis  harmless  curiosity  alone 
Suggests  my  counsel — there  are  certain  men 
Regarding  whom  I ever  fain  would  know 
The  sort  of  maiden  they  can  love. 

SALADIN. 

Well,  then, 

Send  for  her  straight. 

SITTAH. 

Oh,  may  I,  Saladin? 


Sc.  vi. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


301 


SALADIN. 

Only  spare  Nathan’s  feelings — by  no  means 
Must  Nathan  think  that  we  would  tear  the  girl 
From  him  by  force. 

SITTAH. 

Oh,  never  fear. 


SALADIN. 


Meanwhile 

I must  find  out  A1  Hafi’s  whereabouts. 


Scene  VI. — Hall  in  Nathan’s  house,  looking  towards 
the  palm  trees,  as  in  the  opening  scene.  The 
wares  and  precious  stuffs,  lately  brought  by 
Nathan,  partly  unpacked  and  displayed.  Nathan 
and  Daya  contemplating  them. 

DAYA. 

Oh,  all’s  magnificent ! — most  rare  and  choice ; 

All  such  as  you  alone  could  wish  to  give. 

Whence  comes  this  silver  stuff  with  sprays  of 
gold, 

And  what  might  be  its  price? — Oh,  that  I call 

A bridal  dress  indeed ! — no  queen  could  wish 

A braver  one. 

NATHAN. 

Why  just  a bridal  dress? 


302 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


DAYA. 

Well  now,  you  haply  did  not  think  of  that 
What  time  you  bought  it ; but  in  very  truth 
That  and  no  other  must  it  be — it  looks 
Expressly  made  for  that — the  snow-white  ground, 
Emblem  of  purity — the  golden  threads, 

Which  everywhere  run  snaking  through  the  stuff, 
Symbol  of  riches — look  you,  ’tis  divine! 

NATHAN. 

What  means  this  wealth  of  wit? — whose  bridal 
dress 

Would  you  describe  with  this  symbolic  lore; 
Are  you  the  bride  perhaps? 

DAYA. 

Who?— I? 

NATHAN. 

Who,  then? 

DAYA. 

I,  gracious  heavens! — I! 

NATHAN. 

Who  is  she,  then? — 

Whose  bridal  garment  are  you  prating  of  ? 

All  that  you  see  is  yours,  and  yours  alone. 

DAYA. 

Mine! — meant  for  me! — not  meant  for  Recha, 
then? 


Sc.  vi. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


303 


NATHAN. 

That  which  I brought  for  Recha  still  lies  packed 
Within  another  bale — come,  take  the  stuff; 

Off  with  your  trumpery. 

DAYA. 

No,  tempter,  no; 

If  they  comprised  the  wealth  of  all  the  world 
I would  not  touch  them  till  you  swear  to  me 
To  use  this  single  opportunity, 

The  like  of  which  God  ne’er  may  send  again. — 

NATHAN. 

Use  what? — and  opportunity  for  what? 

DAYA. 

Oh,  look  not  so  unconscious.  In  a word, 

The  Templar  loves  our  Recha — make  her  his. 
Thus  your  transgression  will  be  closed  at  last, 
That  sin  which  I no  longer  can  conceal ; 

Thus  will  she  come  once  more  ’mid  Christian 
folk, 

Once  more  be  what  she  is,  or  be  once  more 
That  which  she  was ; then,  too,  we  could  not  say 
That  all  your  many  kindly  acts  to  us, 

Which  we  can  ne’er  sufficiently  requite, 

Were  nought  but  coals  of  fire  upon  your  head. 

NATHAN. 

Harping  once  more  upon  your  ancient  harp! 
Though  haply  fitted  with  an  extra  string, 

Not  well  attuned,  or  like  to  hold. 


304 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


DAYA. 


How  SO? 


NATHAN. 

The  Templar  suits  me,  and  should  have  my 
child 

Sooner  than  e’er  another  in  the  world, 

Were  it  not — well,  have  patience,  I entreat. 


DAYA. 

Patience,  forsooth ! — why  patience,  I declare, 
Is  your  old  harp  on  which  you  ever  strum. 


NATHAN. 

I ask  if  only  for  a few  days  more. 

But  see! — who’s  this  who  comes? — a monk,  me^ 
thinks ; 

Go,  ask  him  what  he  wants. 


DAYA. 

What  can  he  want? 

( She  goes  towards  the  Monk.) 

NATHAN. 

Well,  give  him  alms,  and  that  before  he  asks. 
{To  himself.) 

Would  I could  sound  this  Templar’s  history, 
Without  betraying  what  my  object  is! 

For  if  I tell  him  this,  and  if  it  prove 

That  my  surmise  is  groundless,  then  indeed 

I shall  have  risked  a father’s  rights  in  vain. 


Sc.  viL 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


305 


daya  ( returning ). 

The  monk  would  speak  with  you. 

NATHAN. 

Then  bid  him  come; 
And  you  may  leave  me  now. 


Scene  VII. — Nathan  and  the  Lay  Brother. 

nathan  ( still  to  himself). 

Oh,  I would  fain  be  Recha’s  father  still! 

And  can  I not  be  that,  e’en  though  I cease 
To  bear  the  name?  With  her,  in  any  case, 

With  her  I must  for  ever  bear  the  name, 

If  she  but  know  how  dear  it  is  to  me. 

(To  the  Lay  Brother.) 

Good  brother,  say  what  I can  do  for  you. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Not  much — but  oh,  good  Nathan,  I rejoice 
To  see  you  still  in  health. 

NATHAN. 

You  know  me,  then? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Ay,  that  I do — who  knows  you  not? — your 
name 

Hath  been  impressed  on  many  a needy  palm, 
And  mine  still  bears  its  stamp  these  many  years. 


306 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


nathan  ( feeling  in  his  purse). 

Well,  brother,  let  me  freshen  it  a bit. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Thanks ; but  ’twere  robbery  of  poorer  men ; 

I’ll  nought  of  you — but  rather,  by  your  leave, 

I now  would  freshen  up  my  name  a bit 
Within  your  mind,  since  I too  can  lay  claim 
Once  to  have  placed  within  your  hand  a thing 
Of  no  mean  worth. 

NATHAN. 

Forgive  me — I must  blush — 
Name  it,  and,  to  atone  my  heedlessness, 

Take  from  me  now  its  value  seven  times  told. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Before  all  else,  first  hear  how  I myself 
Only  this  very  day  was  put  in  mind 
Of  that  I pledged  with  you. 

NATHAN. 

You  pledged  with  me! 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Not  long  ago  I filled  a hermit’s  cell 
On  Quarantana,  nigh  to  Jericho,1 
When  suddenly  a band  of  Arab  thieves 
Pulled  down  my  little  chapel,  razed  my  cell, 
And  dragged  me  off  with  them.  By  luck  I fled, 
And  made  my  way  unto  the  patriarch  here 


•See  Note  47. 


Sc.  vii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


307 


To  crave  of  him  some  other  little  spot 
Where  I in  solitude  might  serve  my  God 
Until  a peaceful  death  might  end  my  days. 

NATHAN. 

Brother,  I burn  to  know  the  rest — be  brief ; 
What  was  the  pledge — the  pledge  you  left  with 
me? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Anon,  good  Nathan; — well,  the  Patriarch 
Promised  that  I should  have  a hermit’s  cell 
On  Tabor,  on  the  earliest  vacancy; 

Meanwhile  his  orders  were  that  I should  wait 
As  a lay-brother  in  the  convent  here; 

And  here  I am,  good  Nathan;  and  I long 
A hundred  times  for  Tabor  every  day, 

Because  the  Patriarch  ever  foists  on  me 
All  sorts  of  tasks  from  which  my  soul  recoils; 
Such,  for  example- 

NATHAN. 

Nay,  proceed,  I pray. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

I’m  coming  to  it  now.  Some  one,  it  seems, 

This  day  has  whispered  in  the  Patriarch’s  ear 
That  somewhere  here  there  dwells  a certain  Jew 
Who’s  bringing  up  a certain  Christian  child 
As  his  own  daughter- 

nathan  ( with  alarm). 


What! 


308 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


LAY  BROTHER. 

Nay;  hear  me  out. 
Well  then,  the  Patriarch  has  commissioned  me 
Forthwith,  if  possible,  to  trace  this  Jew, 

Since  he  is  vehemently  stirred  with  wrath 
At  such  an  outrage,  which  appears  to  him 
The  very  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost; 

That  is  to  say,  the  sin  which,  of  all  sins, 

Is  held  by  us  to  be  the  greatest  sin, 

Except  that,  God  be  thanked,  we  scarcely  know 
In  what  it  specially  consists.  But  now 
My  drowsy  conscience  suddenly  awoke, 

And  it  occurred  to  me  that  I myself 
Not  long  ago  had  haply  given  rise 
To  this  unpardonable,  deadly  sin. 

Now  tell  me  whether,  eighteen  years  ago, 

A certain  squire  confided  to  your  hands 
A tiny  maid  of  but  a few  weeks  old? 

NATHAN. 

How’s  this?  Well,  truly — ay,  it  is  the  fact. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Nathan,  look  well  on  me.  I was  the  squire! 

NATHAN. 

What!  You? 


LAY  BROTHER. 

The  knight  from  whom  I brought  the  babe 
Was  one  Von  Filneck,  if  I do  not  err; 

Ay,  Wolf  von  Filneck. 


Sc.  vii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


309 


NATHAN. 

Yes,  that  was  the  name. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

It  seems  the  mother  had  but  lately  died ; 

And  then  the  knight  had  suddenly  to  flit, 
Methinks  to  Gaza,  where  a mite  like  that 
Could  not  go  with  him,  so  he  bade  me  bear 
The  babe  to  you,  and  it  was  at  Darun1 
I gave  it  to  you. 


NATHAN. 

That  is  so  indeed. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

’Twere  little  wonder  if  my  memory 
Deceived  me  after  such  a lapse  of  time ; 

And  then  I’ve  served  so  many  valiant  knights, 
And  this  one  truly  all  too  short  a time; 

Soon  after  that  he  fell  at  Ascalon; 

He  was  a kindly  knight. 

NATHAN. 

Ay,  that  he  was; 

And  one  to  whom  I owed  a world  of  thanks, 
Since  more  than  once  he  saved  me  from  the 
sword. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

If  so,  you  must  have  been  the  more  rejoiced 
To  be  the  guardian  of  his  little  girl. 


'See  Note  48. 


310 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


NATHAN. 

Ay,  you  may  think  it. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Well,  where  is  she  now? 
Surely  she  hath  not  died  by  any  chance; 

Oh,  say  not  that  she’s  dead, — for,  if  she  lives, 
And  no  one  else  be  privy  to  her  case, 

All  things  may  yet  go  well. 

NATHAN. 

Ha,  think  you  so? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Now  mark  me,  Nathan,  thus  I look  at  things: — 
Whene'er  I purpose  to  perform  a deed 
Good  in  itself,  but  bordering  too  close 
On  what  is  bad,  I ever  think  it  best 
To  leave  the  deed  undone;  since  what  is  bad 
Is  always  pretty  palpable  to  us. 

While  what  is  good  is  seldom  quite  so  plain, — 
Now  it  was  natural  enough  that  you, 

To  do  your  best  in  bringing  up  the  child, 

Should  treat  her  as  your  daughter.  Very  well, 
You  did  the  thing  in  perfect  faith  and  love, 

And  is  it  right  that  you  should  smart  for  this? 

I ne’er  can  see  the  justice  of  the  case; 

I own  your  conduct  had  been  more  discreet 
Had  you  employed  some  other  hand  to  rear 
This  Christian  infant  as  a Christian ; 

But  in  that  case  the  daughter  of  your  friend 
Had  lacked  your  love;  and  in  their  tender  years 


Sc.  vii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


311 


Children  need  love  before  all  other  things, 

Were  it  no  more  than  some  dumb  creature’s 
love, 

Ay,  before  Christianity  itself ; 

Trust  me,  there’s  ever  time  enough  for  that; 
And  if  the  maid  but  grew  before  your  eyes 
Healthy  and  good,  then  in  the  eyes  of  God 
She  still  remained  as  precious  as  before. 

And  was  not  Christianity  itself 

Built  up  in  Jewry? — it  hath  vexed  me  oft, 

And  cost  me  many  a bitter  bitter  tear 
That  Christians  should  so  utterly  forget 
Their  own  Redeemer  was  himself  a Jew. 

NATHAN. 

Good  brother,  you  must  be  my  advocate 
When  hatred  and  hypocrisy  are  roused 
To  hunt  me  down  for  such  an  act  as  mine; 

Ah,  such  an  act!  You,  brother,  you  alone 
Shall  know  the  facts ; but  they  must  die  with 
you; 

I’ve  ne’er  been  tempted  by  a vain  desire 
To  tell  them  to  another  man ; to  you, 

And  to  your  simple  piety  alone, 

I tell  them  now,  since  none  but  such  as  you 
Can  rightly  measure  or  can  comprehend 
What  sort  of  deeds  a man  who  loves  his  God 
Can  bring  himself  to  do. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

You’re  deeply  moved. 

Ay,  and  your  eyes  are  running  o’er  with  tears ! 


312 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act  iv. 


NATHAN. 

You  brought  the  infant  to  me  at  Darun ; 

But  then  you  could  not  know  that,  just  before, 
The  Christians  had  slaughtered  every  Jew 
Who  dwelt  in  Gath1 — ay,  massacred  them  all, 
Sparing  nor  sex  nor  age — nor  knew  you  then 
That  my  poor  wife  and  seven  hopeful  sons, 
Whom  I had  sent  for  safety,  as  I thought, 

To  a dear  brother’s  house,  were  burnt  alive 
Within  its  walls. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Oh,  great  and  righteous  Godl 

NATHAN. 

Just  as  you  came  I’d  lain  three  days  and  nights 
In  dust  and  ashes  bowed  before  the  Lord ; 

I raved — I writhed — I wrangled  with  my  God ; 

I wept,  I cursed  myself  and  all  mankind, 

And  swore  eternal  and  undying  hate 
To  Christendom  entire. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

I marvel  not. 


NATHAN. 

But  reason  gradually  came  again, 

And  said  with  gentle  voice:  ‘God  surely  is, 

And  such  was  His  inscrutable  decree ; 

Now  practise  that  which  thou  hast  known  so 
long, 


See  Note  49. 


Sc.  vii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


313 


To  practise  which  is  surely  no  more  hard 
Than  ’tis  to  grasp  it,  if  thou  only  wilt; 

Stand  up !’ — I stood,  and  called  to  God : ‘I  will, 
If  Thou  but  help  my  will.’ — You  lighted  then 
From  off  vour  horse,  and  handed  me  the  child 
Wrapped  in  your  mantle.  What  you  said  to  me, 
What  I replied,  I have  forgotten  now; 

This  much  alone  I know — I took  the  babe, 

I bore  it  to  my  couch — I kissed  its  cheek; 

And  then  I fell  upon  my  bended  knees, 

And,  sobbing,  cried  aloud:  ‘My  God,  of  seven, 
Here’s  one  restored  already!’ 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Nathan,  sure 

You  are  a Christian,  by  Heaven  you  are, 

None  better  ever  breathed! 

NATHAN. 

Alack,  alack! 

That  which  makes  me  a Christian  in  your  eyes 
Makes  you  a Jew  in  mine — enough,  enough; 

Let  us  no  longer  but  unman  ourselves ; 

We  now  must  act — and  though  a seven-fold  love 
Has  knit  my  heart  to  this  one  stranger  maid, 
Although  the  very  thought  is  death  to  me 
That  I may  lose  once  more  my  seven  sons 
In  losing  her,  yet,  if  it  please  the  Lord 
To  claim  her  at  my  hands,  I must  obey. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

’Tis  even  so — it  was  my  very  wish 


314 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


To  breathe  such  counsel,  but  ’tis  needless  now; 
Your  own  good  genius  hath  inspired  the  thought. 

NATHAN. 

Ay,  but  I will  not  lightly  let  her  go 
To  the  first  casual  claimant. 


LAY  BROTHER. 

Surely  not. 

NATHAN. 

Who  hath  not  greater  rights  to  her  than  I 
Must  at  the  least  have  prior  ones. 


LAY  BROTHER. 


He  must. 


NATHAN. 

Derived  from  nature  and  from  kinship. 


LAY  BROTHER. 

Such  is  my  thought. 


Ay, 


NATHAN. 

If  you  will  name  a man 
Who  by  relationship  can  claim  the  maid, 

As  uncle,  brother,  cousin — what  you  will — 

I’ll  ne’er  resist  his  claim.  She’s  formed  to  be 
The  ornament  of  any  house  or  creed. 

I would  you  knew  more  of  your  Christian  knight, 
And  of  his  race,  than  I could  ever  glean. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Good  Nathan,  that  is  hardly  to  be  thought, 


Sc.  vii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


315 


For  you’ve  already  heard  I served  the  knight 
But  all  too  brief  a space. 

NATHAN. 

Then  know  you  not 

At  least  the  stock  from  which  her  mother  came? 
Methinks  she  was  a Stauffen. 


LAY  BROTHER. 

I think  she  was. 


Possibly. 


NATHAN. 

And  was  her  brother  not 
Conrad  von  Stauffen,  and  a Templar  Knight? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Unless  I err,  he  was.  But  wait  a bit, 

I think  I still  possess  a little  book 
Of  the  late  knight  my  master,  which  I plucked 
From  out  his  bosom,  as  we  buried  him 
In  front  of  Ascalon. 

NATHAN. 

What  sort  of  book? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

A book  containing  prayers — what  we  call 
A breviary,  in  fact;  and  that,  methought, 

A Christian  man  might  find  a useful  thing, 
Though  not  myself,  indeed,  since  as  for  me, 

I cannot  even  read. 


316 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


NATHAN. 

Say  on,  say  on! 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Well,  on  the  fly-leaf  of  this  little  book, 

And  also  at  the  end,  as  I’ve  been  told, 

There  is  a record  in  my  master’s  hand 
Of  all  his  relatives,  and  of  his  wife’s. 

NATHAN. 

The  very  thing!  Run,  run,  and  bring  the  book, 
I’ll  pay  you  for  it  with  its  weight  in  gold, 
Besides  a thousand  thanks — Oh,  fetch  it  quick! 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Gladly;  but  what  my  master  w-rote  in  it 
Is  Arabic. 

NATHAN. 

It  matters  not — quick — bring  it  here. 

( The  Lay  Brother  goes.) 
My  God ! if  I could  only  keep  the  maid, 

And  win  a son-in-law  like  this  to  boot ! 

’Twere  too  much  luck,  I fear.  Well,  come  what 
may. 

But  now  I wonder  who  it  can  have  been 
Who  went  and  whispered  in  the  Patriarch’s  ear 
A thing  like  this.  Well,  I must  not  forget 
To  find  this  out.  I wonder  if  it  was 
Our  precious  Daya. 


Sc.  viii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


317 


Scene  VIII. — Daya  and  Nathan. 

daya  (in  haste  and  agitation). 

Oh,  Nathan,  Nathan,  only  think! 

NATHAN. 

Think  what? 

DAYA. 

The  poor,  dear  child  was  fairly  stunned  by  it; 
They’ve  sent 

NATHAN. 

The  Patriarch? 

DAYA. 

No,  the  Sultan’s  sister, 

The  Princess  Sittah 

NATHAN. 

Not  the  Patriarch? 

DAYA. 

No;  Sittah,  don’t  you  hear?  The  Princess 
Sittah 

Hath  sent  and  bade  her  to  be  brought  to  her. 

NATHAN. 

Hath  sent  for  Recha  ! — Sittah  sent  for  her! 

Well,  if  it’s  Sittah  who  has  sent  for  her, 

And  not  the  Patriarch 


DAYA. 


Why  harp  on  him? 


318 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  iv. 


NATHAN. 

Then  you  have  had  no  word  from  him  of  late,; 
Nor  whispered  anything  into  his  ear? 

DAY  A. 

Who?  I?  To  him? 

NATHAN. 

Where  are  the  messengers? 

DAYA. 

They  stand  without. 

NATHAN. 

Well,  for  precaution’s  sake 
111  speak  with  them  myself.  I only  trust 
The  Patriarch  is  not  behind  it  all.  ( He  goes.) 

DAYA. 

And  I am  anxious  on  another  score. 

Ay,  sure  a girl  that  is  supposed  to  be 
The  only  child  of  such  a wealthy  Jew 
Were  no  bad  catch  for  any  Mussulman. 

The  Templar’s  chance  is  gone,  unless  indeed 
I venture  now  upon  the  second  step, 

And  tell  her  plainly  what  she  really  is. 

Courage ! for  this  I straightway  will  employ 
The  very  first  occasion  I may  find 
To  get  her  by  herself;  and  that  will  be 
Now  as  I go  along  with  her  to  Court. 

At  least  a slight  preliminary  hint 

Can  do  no  harm.  Ay,  ay,  ’tis  now  or  ne’er. 


Act.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


319 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — A Chamber  in  the  Palace  of  the  Sultan,  the 
same  wherein  the  treasure  had  been  piled,  as  in 
the  Third  Scene  of  the  Fourth  Act.  The  bags  of 
gold  still  there. 

Saladin,  and  presently  some  of  his  Mamelukes. 
saladin  {entering). 

The  gold  still  here ! — and  no  one  seems  to  know 
Where  to  find  out  the  Dervish — it  is  like 
He’s  lighted  somewhere  at  his  darling  chess, 
Which  sometime  makes  him  e’en  forget  himself, 
Then  why  not  also  me — patience ! 

{To  a Mameluke  who  enters.) 

What  now? 

MAMELUKE. 

Sultan,  good  news  at  last — joy,  Sultan,  joy! 
The  caravan  from  Cairo  hath  arrived, 

And  safely  brought  you  from  the  teeming  Nile 
Your  seven  years’  tribute. 

SALADIN. 

Bravo,  Ibrahim! 

You  are  in  sooth  a harbinger  of  good; 

Ha!  safely  come  at  last! — now  take  my  thanks 
For  your  glad  tidings. 


320 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  v. 


mameluke  ( expectantly , to  himself). 

Well,  I wish  he’d  pay. 

SALADIN. 

What  do  you  wait  for  ? — go. 

MAMELUKE. 

What! — nothing  else 
Unto  the  welcome  messenger? 


SALADIN. 


What  else? 


MAMELUKE. 

The  harbinger  of  tidings  such  as  that 
Looks  for  a courier’s  largesse — otherwise 
I’m  like  to  be  the  first  whom  Saladin 
Has  e’er  fobbed  off  with  empty  thanks  alone; 
Something  to  boast  of  truly ! — ay,  the  first, 

The  very  first  with  whom  he  ever  played 
The  niggard’s  part. 

saladin  ( pointing  to  the  heaps  of  gold). 

Well,  take  a bag  from  there. 


MAMELUKE. 

No,  no — not  now — not  if  you  offered  me 
The  whole  of  them. 


SALADIN. 

Would  you  defy  me  thus? 
Come,  then,  take  two — still  obstinate  ! — He  goes. 
Surpassing  me  in  generosity ! 

To  him  it  must  be  harder  to  refuse 


Sc.  i. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


321 


Than  ’tis  to  me  to  give.  What  can  it  be 
That  makes  me  now,  so  near  my  closing  scene, 
Suddenly  wish  to  be  an  altered  man?1 
Should  Saladin  not  die  as  Saladin, 

Then  he  should  ne’er  have  lived  as  Saladin 

A SECOND  MAMELUKE. 

Ho,  Sultan ! 

SALADIN. 

If  you’ve  come  to  tell  the  news 

SECOND  MAMELUKE. 

That  the  Egyptian  convoy  hath  arrived. 

SALADIN. 

I know’t  already. 

SECOND  MAMELUKE. 

Then  I’ve  come  too  latel 

SALADIN. 

Why  say  too  late?  You’ll  take  a bag  or  two 
For  your  good  will. 

SECOND  MAMELUKE. 

Well,  two  and  one  make  three. 

SALADIN. 

You  reckon  nimbly — help  yourself  to  three. 

SECOND  MAMELUKE. 

Another  messenger  comes  hard  behind; 

That  is,  if  he  is  able. 


‘See  Note  SO. 


322 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  v. 


SALADIN. 


Pray  explain. 


SECOND  MAMELUKE. 

Well,  he  most  probably  has  broke  his  neck; 

For  when  the  three  of  us  were  well  assured 
The  convoy  had  arrived,  we  dashed  at  once 
To  bring  the  news  to  you — the  foremost  horse 
Stumbled  and  fell,  and  so  I got  the  lead, 

And  kept  it  too,  until  we  reached  the  town, 
Where  Ibrahim,  sly  rogue,  had  better  skill 
Among  the  alleys. 

SALADIN. 

Oh,  but  I’m  concerned 
For  him  who  fell ! ride  quick  and  learn  his  case. 

SECOND  MAMELUKE. 

Ay,  that  I’ll  gladly  do ; and  if  he  lives 
I’ll  give  him  half  of  these  three  bags  of  gold. 

(He  goes.) 

SALADIN. 

See,  there’s  a noble  fellow  if  you  like! 

Who  else  can  boast  of  Mamelukes  like  these? 
And  may  I not  be  suffered  to  suppose 
That  my  example  helped  to  form  them  thus? 
Then  out  upon  the  thought  that  at  the  last 
I should  unteach  the  lessons  that  I gave! 

A THIRD  MAMELUKE. 

Sultan,  what  ho ! 


Sc.  ii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


323 


SALADIN. 

Are  you  the  one  who  fell? 

THIRD  MAMELUKE. 

No,  Sultan,  no;  I come  but  to  announce 
That  Emir  Mansor,  he  who  brought  the  gold, 
Has  just  alighted. 

SALADIN. 

Bring  him  quickly  here; 
Ha!  here  he  is  himself. 


Scene  II. — Emir  Mansor  and  Saladin. 

SALADIN. 

Welcome,  brave  Emir!  So  you’re  come  at  last, 
Oh,  Mansor,  Mansor,  I have  looked  for  you 
These  many  weary  days! 

MANSOR. 

This  missive,  sire, 

Will  tell  you  of  the  tumult  in  Thebais 
Which  Abdul  Kasim  had  perforce  to  quell 
Before  we  dared  to  start  the  caravan; 

But  since  we  started  I have  urged  it  on 
As  much  as  might  be. 

SALADIN. 

I believe  you  well. 

And  now,  good  Mansor,  if  you  do  not  grudge 


324 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  v. 


This  added  labor,  take  without  delay 
Fresh  guards  for  the  protection  of  the  train, 
And  hold  you  ready  for  a further  march, 

Since  you  must  bear  the  bulk  of  all  this  gold 
Unto  my  father  on  Mount  Lebanon. 

MANSOR. 

Most  gladly,  Sultan. 

SALADIN. 

And  look  well  you  take 
Sufficient  escort,  for  on  Lebanon 
Things  are  no  longer  safe.  You’ve  doubtless 
heard 

The  Templars  now  are  on  the  move  again; 

So  be  upon  your  guard.  Where  halts  the  train? 
I fain  would  see  it  and  myself  dispose 
Its  due  equipment. 

(To  a slave.) 

Ho,  you  fellow  there, 

Say  to  my  sister  I’ll  be  with  her  soon. 


Scene  III. — The  palm  grove  before  Nathan’s  house. 
templar  (alone). 

I’ll  ne’er  again  put  foot  within  his  doors  j1 
He’s  certain  presently  to  show  himself. 

Once  on  a time  they  yearned  to  see  me  come, 


*See  Note  51. 


Sc.  iii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


325 


And  now  ’tis  like  enough  to  come  to  this 
That  he  will  bid  me  cease  to  haunt  his  house. 
Oh,  I’m  provoked  with  him — yet  wherefore  so? — 
Why  all  this  bitterness  against  a Jew? 

So  far  at  least  he  has  refused  me  nought, 

And  Saladin  himself  has  now  engaged 
To  work  upon  him — Is  it  possible 
The  Christian’s  more  inveterate  in  me 
Than  is  in  him  the  Jew? — ay,  who  can  tell? — 
Else  why  should  I so  bitterly  resent 
The  trivial  larceny  he  took  such  pains 
To  practise  on  the  Christians?  And  yet 
’Twas  no  such  trivial  larceny  to  take 
A thing  like  that ! — And  who  can  claim  her  now? 
She’s  ne’er  the  chattel  of  the  nameless  hind 
Who  cast  the  shapeless  block  on  life’s  bleak 
shore 

And  straightway  vanished.  Rather  is  she  his, 
The  craftsman’s  who  in  that  poor  derelict 
Conceived  and  fashioned  such  a peerless  thing. 
Ay,  Recha’s  real  father  is  the  Jew, 

Spite  of  the  Christian  who  gendered  her; 

The  Jew  alone.  For  if  she  were  no  more 
Than  e’er  another  comely  Christian  maid, 
Without  the  added  charm  of  all  the  gifts 
Which  only  such  a Jew  could  give  to  her, 

Say,  oh  my  heart,  could  she  have  witched  me 
thus? 

Ah  no,  in  sooth ! Her  sweetest  smile  were  then 
Nought  but  a winsome  movement  of  the  lips; 
While  that  which  raised  it  never  could  explain 


326 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  v. 


The  glamor  which  it  sheds  on  all  her  face. 

Oft  have  I witnessed  smiles  as  sweet  as  hers 
Lavished  on  folly,  raillery,  or  jests, 

On  fulsome  suitors,  or  on  flattering  fools, 

And  did  they  ravish  me,  or  make  me  yearn 
To  flutter  in  their  sunshine  all  my  days? 

And  yet  I harbor  wrath  against  the  man 
Whose  hand  alone  hath  made  her  what  she  isl 
How’s  this?  And  have  I merited  the  scorn 
With  which  I was  dismissed  by  Saladin?1 
Whether  I did  or  no,  ’twas  bad  enough 
That  he  should  think  I did ; and  oh,  how  small, 
How  despicable  too  I must  have  seemed 
In  eyes  like  his — and  all  about  a girl ! 

Curd,  Curd ! this  must  not  be — control  thyself. 
And  what  if  Daya  merely  chose  to  prate 
Of  matters  which  she  ne’er  could  prove?  But  see, 
See  where  he  comes  at  last — and  who  is  yon 
With  whom  he’s  plunged  in  talk?  I do  believe 
It  is  my  friend  the  monk!  Why  then,  for  sure, 
He  now  knows  all,  and  they’ve  betrayed  him  now 
Unto  the  Patriarch.  Well,  here’s  a coil! 

See  what  my  blundering  has  brought  about. 

To  think  that  one  stray  spark  of  passion’s  fire 
Should  set  the  brain  of  man  in  such  a blaze ! 
Now  must  I swift  decide  upon  my  course; 

But  meanwhile  let  me  wait  aside  a space, 
Perhaps  the  monk  may  leave  him  presently. 


JSee  Note  52. 


Sc.  iv. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


327 


Scene  IV. — Nathan  and  the  Lay  Brother. 

NATHAN. 

Once  more,  good  brother,  take  my  heartfelt 
thanks. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

And  you  the  same  from  me. 

NATHAN. 

Why  thanks  from  you? 
For  my  sheer  wilfulness  to  force  on  you 
That  which  you  did  not  want?  But  you  yourself 
Were  wilful  too.  You  did  not  choose  to  be 
By  force  made  richer  than  I am  myself. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

In  any  case  the  book  was  none  of  mine; 

It  is  the  daughter’s  property ; nay,  more, 

’Tis  all  the  patrimony  that  she  has, 

Unless  I count  yourself.  God  only  grant 
You  never  may  have  reason  to  repent 
All  that  you’ve  done  for  her. 

tNATHAN. 

Repent,  indeed! 

That  I can  never  do — be  sure  of  that. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

But  for  your  Templars  and  your  Patriarchs. 

NATHAN. 

Not  any  harm  that  they  could  do  to  me 
Could  ever  make  me  rue  a single  act 


328 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  v. 


That  I have  done — and  this  the  least  of  all. 
And,  after  all,  are  you  so  very  sure 
It  is  a Templar  who  is  hounding  on 
This  Patriarch  of  yours? 

LAY  BROTHER. 

I think  it  must. 

A Templar  spoke  with  him  not  long  ago; 
And  all  I’ve  heard  corroborates  the  thing. 

NATHAN. 

And  yet  at  present  there  is  only  one 
In  all  Jerusalem;  and  him  I know; 

Nay  more,  he  is  a special  friend  of  mine, 

A young,  a noble,  honorable  man. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Just  so — the  very  same — but  what  one  is, 

And  what  the  world  compels  one  oft  to  be, 
Don’t  always  correspond. 

NATHAN. 

Alas,  ’tis  true. 

Then  be  my  enemy  whoe’er  he  may, 

E’en  let  him  do  his  best  or  do  his  worst, 

With  your  book,  brother,  I defy  them  all, 

I’m  going  with  it  to  the  Sultan  now. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

God  prosper  you ; and  now  I’ll  take  my  leave. 

NATHAN. 

And  yet  you  have  not  even  seen  her  yet ! 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


329 


Come  soon,  come  oft.  If  but  the  Patriarch 
This  day  discovers  nought!  Yet  after  all 
You  now  may  tell  him  whatsoe’er  you  please. 

LAY  BROTHER. 

Not  I — farewell. 


NATHAN. 

Well,  brother,  think  of  us. 

(Lay  Brother  goes.) 
My  God,  I now  would  thank  Thee  on  my  knees ! 
To  think  the  tangled  skein,  whose  stubborn  knots 
Oft  caused  me  gnawing  apprehension,  now 
Unravels  of  itself ! Oh,  God,  what  joy 
To  think  that  now  I’ve  nothing  to  conceal, 

And  now  can  walk  amid  my  fellow-men 
As  freely  as  I’ve  done  in  sight  of  Thee, 

Who  dost  not  always  judge  us  by  our  acts, 

Acts,  oh,  so  oftentimes  not  all  our  own! 


Scene  V. — Nathan  and  the  Templar,  who  advances 
from  a retired  spot. 

TEMPLAR. 

Hold,  Nathan,  hold — take  me  along  with  you. 

NATHAN. 

What,  you,  Sir  Knight?  How  is  it  that  you 
failed 

To  meet  me  at  the  Sultan’s? 


330 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  v. 


TEMPLAR. 

It  would  seem 

We  missed  each  other — be  not  vexed  for  that. 

NATHAN. 

Not  I,  but  Saladin  may  chafe  at  it. 

TEMPLAR. 

When  I came  there,  you  had  but  just  withdrawn. 

NATHAN. 

So  you  had  speech  with  him?  Then  all  is  well? 
TEMPLAR. 

Ay,  but  he  wants  to  see  us  face  to  face 
Together  there. 

NATHAN. 

’Tis  all  the  better — come; 

E’en  now  I was  about  to  go  to  him. 

TEMPLAR. 

I fain  would  ask  you,  Nathan,  who  was  he 
Who  left  you  even  now. 

NATHAN. 

How?  don’t  you  know? 

TEMPLAR. 

It  surely  was  the  monk,  the  worthy  soul 
Who  acts  as  lurcher  to  the  Patriarch. 

NATHAN. 

Maybe — at  all  events  the  honest  man 
Is  at  the  Patriarch’s  beck. 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


331 


TEMPLAR. 

Tis  no  bad  thought 
To  send  Simplicity  to  clear  the  way 
For  Knavery. 

NATHAN. 

Ay,  if  your  simpleton 
Be  simple  only,  and  not  honest  too. 

TEMPLAR. 

No  Patriarch  ever  trusts  an  honest  fool. 

NATHAN. 

I’ll  answer  for  the  monk — he’s  not  the  man 
Would  help  the  Patriarch  to  carry  out 
A knavish  scheme. 

TEMPLAR. 

So  he  gives  out  at  least. 

But  has  he  ne’er  said  aught  to  you  of  me? 

NATHAN. 

Of  you?  no,  nought  of  you — the  worthy  man 
Scarce  knows  your  name. 

TEMPLAR. 

I hardly  think  he  does. 

NATHAN. 

Well,  of  a certain  Templar,  I confess 
He  said  to  me 


TEMPLAR. 

What  said  he? 


332 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


NATHAN. 


What  he  said 

Proves  absolutely  that  he  meant  not  you. 


TEMPLAR. 

Who  knows?  Come,  tell  me  what  he  said. 


NATHAN. 


He  said 

A certain  Templar  had  preferred  a charge 
Against  me  to  that  Patriarch  of  his. 


TEMPLAR. 

A charge  ’gainst  you,  forsooth!  Well,  by  his 
leave. 

That  is  a fiction.  I am  not  a man 
Who  would  be  likely  to  disown  my  acts, 

And  what  I did,  I did ; nor  am  I one 

Who  would  maintain  that  all  his  acts  are  right. 

Why  should  a single  error  make  me  blush? 

And  am  I not  resolved  to  do  my  best 
Now  to  retrieve  it ; and  do  I not  know 
How  far  this  may  be  done?  Now,  Nathan,  hear, 
I’m  your  lay  brother’s  Templar,  sure  enough, 
Who  laid  the  charge  against  you.  All  the  same, 
You  know  what  maddened  me  against  you  then, 
What  caused  my  blood  to  boil  in  every  vein. 
Fool  that  I was,  I needs  must  throw  myself 
Body  and  soul  into  your  arms.  You  know 
How  you  received  my  suit — how  cold  you  were, 
How  lukewarm,  rather,  which  is  worse  than 
cold ; 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


333 


How  cautiously  you  strove  to  stave  me  off ; 
With  what  irrelevant  and  air-drawn  pleas 
You  made  believe  to  answer  to  my  prayer; 
Scarce  can  I bear  to  think  upon  it  now 
And  yet  be  calm.  Now,  Nathan,  mark  me  well, 
While  in  this  ferment,  comes  me  Daya  next, 

And  slips  into  my  ear  her  secret  news, 

Which  seemed  to  furnish  all  at  once  the  key 
To  your  mysterious  conduct. 

NATHAN. 

How  was  that? 

TEMPLAR. 

I’ll  tell  you  presently. — I then  made  sure 
You’d  ne’er  give  up  to  any  Christian 
A being  whom  you  once  had  won  like  this 
From  Christian  hands,  and  so  I then  resolved 
As  briefly  and  as  kindly  as  I might 
To  put  you  out  of  pain. 

NATHAN. 

Your  brevity 

Was  plain  enough,  but  yet  I fail  to  see 
The  kindness  of  your  act. 

TEMPLAR. 

I freely  own 

I acted  madly.  You  had  done  no  wrong; 

That  crack-brained  Daya  knew  not  what  she 
said ; 

She  owes  some  grudge  to  you,  and  only  sought 
By  this  to  plunge  you  in  some  evil  snare, 


334 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


Yet,  for  all  that,  I acted  like  a fool, 
For  ever  rashly  rushing  to  extremes, 
Too  passive  now,  now  too  impetuous; 
I crave  your  pardon,  Nathan. 


NATHAN. 

TEMPLAR. 


It  is  yours. 


I told  the  Patriarch,  but  I named  you  not ; 

That  is  a fiction,  as  I said  but  now; 

I only  put  the  case  in  general  terms, 

That  I might  gather  what  he  thought  of  it; 
That,  too,  had  better  have  been  left  undone, 
For  even  then  I knew  the  Patriarch 
Was  but  a cogging  knave.  Then  why,  you’ll 
say, 

Why  could  I not  have  spoken  to  yourself ; 

Why  make  the  hapless  girl  incur  the  risk 
To  lose  a father  such  as  you?  Well,  well, 

The  knavish  scheming  of  the  Patriarch, 

Ever  consistent  in  his  roguery, 

Suddenly  brought  me  to  myself  again ; 

And  even  if  he  knew  your  name,  what  then; 

He  only  could  presume  to  seize  the  girl 
If  she  were  claimed  by  no  one  but  yourself ; 

He  dare  not  hale  her  to  a nunnery 
Save  from  your  house — then  give  the  maid  to 
me; 

Give  her  to  me — then  let  the  Patriarch  come ; 
He’ll  hardly  dare  to  drag  my  wife  from  me; 

Give  her  at  once,  be  she  your  child  or  not, 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


335 


Be  she  a Jewess  or  a Christian, 

Or  of  no  creed  at  all — it  matters  not; 

I’ll  never  never  ask  you  what  she  is ; 

To  me  ’tis  all  the  same. 

NATHAN. 

Do  you  suppose 
That  I have  any  need  to  hide  the  truth? 

TEMPLAR. 

Let  that  be  as  it  may. 

NATHAN. 

I’ve  ne’er  denied 
To  you,  or  any  who  could  claim  to  know, 

That  she’s  a Christian,  and  nought  to  me 
But  my  adopted  child.  Why,  then,  you’ll  ask. 
Why  have  I never  said  as  much  to  her? 

But  that’s  a point  I need  not  to  unfold 
Save  unto  her. 

TEMPLAR. 

Not  even  unto  her 

Need  you  unfold  it — let  her  look  on  you 
With  the  same  eyes  as  she  has  ever  done ; 
Spare  her  the  revelation — you  alone 
Possess  her  now,  and  can  dispose  of  her; 

Then  give  her  to  me,  Nathan,  I entreat; 

’Tis  I alone  who,  for  the  second  time, 

Can  save  her  for  you,  and  who’ll  do  it  too. 

NATHAN. 

It  was  so  once ; but  ’tis  no  longer  so ; 

You  come  too  late. 


336 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


TEMPLAR. 

How  so?  oh,  how  too  late? 

NATHAN. 

Thanks  to  the  Patriarch. 

TEMPLAR. 

Thanks  to  him!  for  what? 
Was  it  his  purpose  e’er  to  earn  our  thanks? 
Why  thanks  to  him,  forsooth? 

NATHAN. 

That  now  we  know 
Who  are  her  kindred — to  whose  hands  she  now 
May  safely  be  surrendered. 

TEMPLAR. 

Nay,  for  that 

Let  him  be  thankful  to  the  Patriarch 
Who  has  more  cause  than  I !’ 

NATHAN. 

Yet  at  the  hands 

Of  these  her  kindred  you  must  seek  her  now, 
And  not  at  mine. 

TEMPLAR. 

Poor  Recha!  all  things  seem 
To  jump  together  only  to  your  hurt; 

That  which  to  any  other  orphan  child 
Had  been  a priceless  blessing,  is  to  you 
A sheer  calamity.  But,  Nathan,  say, 

Where  are  these  precious  new-found  kinsfolk? 


JSee  Note  53. 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


337 


NATHAN. 

Where  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

And  what  are  they? 

NATHAN. 

Well,  as  to  what  they  are, 
A brother  in  especial  has  been  found, 

To  whom  you  must  address  your  suit  for  her. 

TEMPLAR. 

A brother,  say  you?  Well,  and  what  is  he, 

A soldier  or  a priest?  Oh,  tell  me  quick 
What  I may  hope  from  him. 

NATHAN. 

I rather  think 

That  he  is  neither — or  is  both  in  one — 

I scarcely  know  him  yet. 

TEMPLAR. 

What  more  of  him? 


NATHAN. 

I hear  he  is  an  honest  man,  with  whom 
Our  Recha  will  do  well. 

TEMPLAR. 

A Christian  too? 

Nathan,  at  times  you  fairly  puzzle  me; 

Be  not  offended,  but  you  well  may  think 
With  Christians  she  must  play  the  Christian, 
And  when  she  shall  have  played  it  long  enough, 


338 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


She’ll  end  at  last  by  being  one  in  fact; 

And  then  the  tares  will  choke  the  precious  wheat 
Sown  in  her  soul  by  you ; and  yet  you  seem 
Quite  unconcerned  for  that,  and  calmly  say 
She’s  sure  to  prosper  ’neath  her  brother’s  care ! 

NATHAN. 

Well,  so  I think  at  least,  and  so  I hope ; 

If  she  should  lack  for  aught  beneath  his  care, 
She’ll  still  have  you  and  me  to  think  of  her. 

TEMPLAR. 

What  can  she  ever  chance  to  lack  with  him? 

The  loving  brother  surely  will  provide 
The  darling  sister  with  a goodly  store 
Of  food  and  raiment,  dainty  things,  and  gauds; 
And  what  more  could  she  want,  unless  it  be 
A man  to  wed  her?  Well,  well,  even  that 
The  loving  brother  in  his  own  good  time 
Will  surely  find  her,  if  he’s  to  be  found ; 

And  then,  the  better  Christian  he  is, 

The  better  chance  for  him.  Alack,  my  friend, 
’Tis  sad  you’ve  reared  an  angel  such  as  this 
To  be  preverted  thus  by  other  hands ! 

NATHAN. 

Why  these  regrets?  Our  angel,  be  assured, 
Will  ever  prove  right  worthy  of  our  love.1 

TEMPLAR. 

Speak  not  thus  lightly  of  my  love  for  her; 

’See  Note  54. 


Sc.  v. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


339 


It  ne’er  can  brook  partition  such  as  this 
With  e’er  another — no,  not  e’en  in  name. 

But  tell  me,  has  she  any  inkling  yet 
Of  what  awaits  her? 

NATHAN. 

Possibly  she  has ; 

But  whence  the  inkling  came  I cannot  tell. 

TEMPLAR. 

Nay,  nay,  this  is  too  much — she  shall — she  must 
Learn  first  from  me  the  tidings  of  her  lot. 

My  resolution  ne’er  to  see  her  more 

Till  I could  call  her  mine,  now  melts  away; 

I’ll  haste  me  now 

NATHAN. 

Haste  whither? 


TEMPLAR. 

Unto  her; 

To  see  if  haply  in  her  maiden  soul 
There  may  be  found  sufficient  man-like  stuff 
To  make  her  yet  adopt  the  sole  resolve 
That’s  worthy  of  her. 

NATHAN. 

What  is  that? 

TEMPLAR. 

’Tis  this; 

To  snap  her  fingers  at  the  pair  of  you; 

You  and  her  brother. 


340 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


NATHAN. 

And? 

TEMPLAR. 

To  follow  me; 

E’en  if  in  doing  so  she  had  to  wed 
A Moslem. 

NATHAN. 

Stay,  she  is  no  longer  there; 
She’s  now  with  Sittah,  or  with  Saladin. 

TEMPLAR. 

Since  when?  and  why? 

NATHAN. 

And  if  you’d  like  to  meet 
The  brother  there  with  them,  then  come  writh  me. 

TEMPLAR. 

The  brother?  whose?  Sittah’s,  or  Recha’s, 
which? 


NATHAN. 

Possibly  both — but  come,  I pray  you  come. 

{He  leads  him  away.) 


Sc.  vi. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


341 


Scene  VI. — Sittah’s  Boudoir.  Sittah  and  Recha  in 
conversation. 


SITTAH. 

Oh,  what  delight  you  give  me,  darling  child! 
But  be  not  agitated — be  not  shy; 

Be  gay  and  prattle  freely — be  at  ease. 


RECHA. 

Princess 

SITTAH. 


Not  Princess — call  me  Sittah,  dear; 
Your  friend,  your  sister,  mother — what  you  will. 
I well  might  be  the  last,  you  are  so  young, 

And  yet  so  wise — and  good  as  you  are  wise; 
You  seem  to  know  all  things,  and  to  have  read 
All  that  has  e’er  been  writ. 


RECHA. 

Who?  /indeed! 

You  surely  mock  your  little  silly  friend; 

I scarce  can  read. 


SITTAH. 

Nay,  that’s  a little  fib. 

RECHA. 

Well,  I can  spell  out  what  my  father  pens; 

At  least  a little — but  I thought  you  spoke 
Of  real  books. 

SITTAH. 

Yes,  dear,  I spoke  of  books. 


342 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


RECHA. 

Well,  I can  scarcely  read  a book  at  all. 

SITT.AH. 

What? — are  you  serious? 

RECHA. 

Quite — my  father  says 
Frigid  book-learning’s  but  a sorry  thing, 

Whose  lifeless  symbols  speak  not  to  the  heart. 

SITTAH. 

Ha ! saith  he  so  ? Methinks  he’s  not  far  wrong. 
How  came  you,  then,  to  learn  the  many  things 
You  seem  to  know? 

RECHA. 

I learnt  them  from  his  lips; 
And  I could  almost  tell  you  even  now 
Where,  how,  and  why  he  mostly  taught  me  them. 

SITTAH. 

Things  taught  like  this  dwell  longest  in  the  mind, 
For  then  the  whole  soul  learns. 

RECHA. 

And  as  for  books, 

I judge  you  too  have  read  but  few  or  none. 

SITTAH. 

How  so?  I cannot  boast  me  of  my  lore, 

But  state  your  grounds — and  boldly — come,  your 
grounds. 


Sc.  vL 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


343 


RECHA. 

Because  you  are  so  natural,  so  fresh, 

So  free  from  artifice, — so  like  yourself. 

SITTAH. 

And  what  of  that? 

RECHA. 

My  father  says  that  books 
Too  seldom  leave  us  so. 

SITTAH. 

Your  father  seems 

To  be  a wondrous  man. 

RECHA. 

Ay,  that  he  is. 

SITTAH. 

How  close  he  ever  shoots  unto  the  mark ! 

RECHA. 

He  does — and  then  to  think 

SITTAH. 

What  ails  you,  dear  ? 

RECHA. 

To  think  that  I must  lose 

SITTAH. 

My  God,  you  weep! 

RECHA. 

That  I must  lose — ay,  it  must  out,  or  else 


344 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


My  heart  would  burst — to  think  that  I must  lose 
A father  such  as  that! 

( She  falls,  sobbing,  at  the  feet  of  Sittah.) 

SITTAH. 

What!  lose  him!  how? 
Be  calm — you  shall  not  lose  him — rise,  my  child. 

RECHA. 

Then  not  in  vain  you’ll  have  become  to  me 
A sister  and  a friend. 

SITTAH. 

Be  sure  I’m  both. 

But  rise,  my  child,  or  I must  call  for  help. 

recha  ( controlling  herself,  and  rising). 
Forgive  me!  anguish  caused  me  to  forget 
With  whom  I speak — oh  no,  despairing  tears 
Are  not  required  to  move  a Sittah’s  heart; 

Calm  reason  is  enough  for  souls  like  hers ; 
With  Sittah  reason’s  cause  is  sure  to  win. 

SITTAH. 

Well,  tell  your  tale. 

RECHA. 

My  sister  and  my  friend, 
Oh,  never  never  let  them  force  on  me 
Another  father — oh,  permit  it  not! 

SITTAH. 

What!  force  another  father  upon  you! 

Who  can  do  that,  or  wish  to  do  it,  dear? 


Sc.  vi. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


345 


RECHA. 

Who  ? Why  my  own  good  wicked  Daya  can ; 
Ay,  she  can  wish  it  and  can  do  it  too; 

You  know  her  not — at  once  so  good  and  bad; 
May  God  forgive  her,  and  reward  her  too ; 
She’s  been  so  kind  to  me,  and  yet  she’s  been 
Oh,  so  unkind  as  well! 

SITTAH. 

Unkind  to  you? 
Then  of  a truth  there’s  little  good  in  her. 

RECHA. 

Oh  yes,  there  is,  and  much. 

SITTAH. 

Who  is  she,  then? 


RECHA. 

A Christian,  who  when  I was  but  a babe 
Was  nurse  to  me,  and  oh,  you  cannot  think 
How  tenderly  she  filled  a mother’s  place, 

And  caused  me  to  forget  my  orphan  state ! 
May  God  requite  her!  Yet  with  all  her  love, 
She  oft  has  tortured  me. 

SITTAH. 

But  how  and  why? 

RECHA. 

The  dear  good  woman,  I must  tell  you  plain, 
Is  one  of  those  good  simple  Christian  souls 


346 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


Who  from  sheer  love  must  torture  those  they 
love; 

One  of  those  kindly  fanatics  who  think 
They  only  know  the  strait  and  narrow  way, 
The  one  true  way  to  God. 


SITTAH. 


Ah,  now  I see. 


RECHA. 

Who  feel  impelled  to  force  upon  that  way 
All  who  may  chance  to  tread  another  track ; 

And  scarce  could  they  do  else,  for  if  ’tis  true 
That  their  way  only  leads  to  lasting  bliss, 

How  could  they  calmly  see  their  friends  pursue 
Another  path  which,  as  they  are  convinced, 

Can  only  lead  us  to  eternal  woe? 

Else  it  were  possible  to  love  and  hate 
The  self-same  person  at  the  self-same  time. 

No,  ’tis  not  that  which  now  at  last  has  roused 
These  loud  complaints  against  her.  All  her  sighs. 
Her  warnings,  her  entreaties,  and  her  threats, 

I could  have  borne  with  patience  to  the  end ; 
These  only  led  me  ever  unto  thoughts 
Which  were  both  good  and  profitable  too; 

And  it  is  flattering  to  us  to  feel 
That  any  fellow-creature  loves  us  so 
As  to  be  tortured  by  the  very  thought 
Of  losing  us  for  all  eternity. 


SITTAH. 


Ay,  that  is  true. 


Sc.  vi. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


347 


RECHA. 

But  now  she’s  gone  too  far; 
Nothing  can  palliate  her  last  offence; 

All  patience,  all  reflection,  fail  me  now; 

’Tis  past  all  bearing! 

SITTAH. 

What  was  this  offence? 

RECHA. 

Well,  a disclosure  she  professed  to  make 
This  very  day. 


SITTAH. 

That’s  strange — this  very  day! 
RECHA. 

On  our  way  hither,  just  as  we  approached 
A ruined  Christian  temple,  all  at  once 
She  stopped,  and  seemed  to  struggle  with  her- 
self ; 

With  tearful  eyes  she  first  looked  up  to  heaven, 
And  then  she  gazed  on  me;  at  last  she  said — 
Come,  let  us  take  the  path  which  leads  direct 
Through  this  old  ruined  fane;  with  that  she 
went; 

I followed,  and  I shuddered  as  I viewed 
The  mouldering  relics  which  bestrewed  the  spot ; 
Again  she  halted,  and  I stood  with  her 
Hard  by  a crumbling  altar’s  sunken  steps ; 

Then  judge  of  my  surprise  when  all  at  once, 


348 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


Wringing  her  hands,  and  shedding  scalding 
tears, 

She  fell  before  my  feet. 

SITTAH. 

My  precious  child ! 

RECHA. 

And  by  the  holy  Virgin,  who  of  yore 

Had  heard  so  many  a prayer  before  that  shrine, 

And  there  had  wrought  so  many  a miracle, 

With  looks  of  deepest  sympathy  and  love, 

She  prayed  me  to  have  pity  on  myself ; 

Or  at  the  least  to  pardon  her  if  now 
She  told  me  of  her  church’s  claims  on  me. 

sittah  (to  herself). 

Alas,  I feared  as  much ! 

RECHA. 

She  said  I was 

Of  Christian  blood,  had  duly  been  baptised, 

And  was  no  child  of  Nathan’s.  Ay,  she  said 
Nathan  was  not  my  father — oh,  my  God, 

To  think  he  is  not  that ! — ah,  Sittah,  now 
I cast  me  once  more  prostrate  at  your  feet! 

SITTAH. 

Nay,  Recha,  rise — see  there,  my  brother  comes! 


Sc.  vii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


349 


Scene  VII. — Saladin  and  the  Preceding. 


SALADIN. 

Sittah,  what’s  this? 

SITTAH. 

She  seems  beside  herself ! 


SALADIN. 

Who  is  she? 

SITTAH. 

Sure,  you  know. 


SALADIN. 

What,  Nathan’s  child? 

What  ails  her? 

SITTAH. 

Child,  arise,  'tis  Saladin. 

recha  (who,  still  kneeling  and  with  bowed  head,  has 
crept  to  the  Sultan's  feet). 

No,  I will  not  arise — I ne’er  will  look 
Upon  the  Sultan’s  face,  or  contemplate 
The  image  of  eternal  rectitude 
And  goodness  in  his  eyes  and  on  his  front, 

Until  he  promise  first 


SITTAH. 

RECHA. 


Arise,  arise! 


Not  till  he  promise- 


350 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


SALADIN. 


Whate’er  it  be. 


Well,  I promise  it, 


RECHA. 

’Tis  neither  more  nor  less 
Than  that  he’ll  let  my  father  bide  with  me, 

And  me  with  him.  As  yet  I do  not  know 
Who  else  it  is  who  possibly  can  wish 
To  fill  his  place — nor  do  I seek  to  know — 

Are  fathers  haply  made  by  blood  alone? 

saladin  ( raising  her). 

I see  it  all — who  could  so  cruel  be 

To  breathe  the  thought  so  rashly  in  your  breast? 

But  is  the  thing  established,  fully  proved? 

RECHA. 

It  must  be  so  indeed,  for  Daya  says 
She  had  it  from  my  nurse. 

SALADIN. 

Your  nurse,  say  you? 


RECHA. 

Who  in  her  dying  moments  felt  constrained 
To  trust  the  secret  unto  Daya’s  ear. 

SALADIN. 

Dying  indeed ! — perhaps  delirious  too. 

And  even  were  it  true,  still,  as  you’ve  said, 
Blood  is  not  all  that  makes  paternity; 

Not  even  ’mid  the  brutes — it  gives,  at  most, 


Sc.  vii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


351 


The  prior  right  to  earn  the  sacred  name — 

So  then  cheer  up ; and  if  a brace  of  sires 
Now  wrangle  for  you,  leave  them  in  the  lurch, 
And  take  a third — take  me  to  be  your  sire. 

SITTAH. 

Oh,  do — oh,  do ! 

SALADIN. 

I’ll  prove  a good  one  too ; 

A right  good  sire  to  you — or,  better  still, 

What  do  you  want  with  fathers  after  all? 

They  die  so  soon — best  look  around  betimes 
For  one  who’ll  match  you  in  the  race  of  life. 
Know  you  none  such? 

SITTAH. 

Oh,  do  not  make  her  blush. 

SALADIN. 

Nay,  it  was  my  intention  to  do  that; 

Blushes  make  even  homely  features  fair, 

How  could  they  fail  to  make  the  fair  more  fair? 
I’ve  bid  your  father  Nathan  join  us  here, 

And  with  him  I have  bid  another  come, — 

With  Sittah’s  kind  permission — can  you  guess 
Who  that  may  be? 

SITTAH. 

Oh,  brother ! 

SALADIN. 

When  he  comes, 

Blush  before  him,  dear  maiden,  if  you  like. 


352 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  v. 


RECHA. 

Blush! — before  whom? 

SALADIN. 

You  little  hyprocite! 

Turn  pale,  then,  if  you  like — just  as  you  please, 
And  as  you  can. 

( A female  slave  enters  and  approaches  Sittah.) 

What, — come  they  even  now  ? 

SITTAH. 

’Tis  they,  my  brother — bid  them  come  within. 


Last  Scene. — Nathan,  the  Templar,  and  the 
Preceding. 


SALADIN. 

Welcome,  my  worthy  friends! — and  first  of  all, 
Let  me  now  tell  you,  Nathan,  you  can  send 
As  soon  as  e’er  you  please  to  fetch  your  gold. 

NATHAN. 

What  mean  you,  Sultan? 

SALADIN. 

That  'tis  now  my  turn 

To  be  of  use  to  you. 

NATHAN. 

What  mean  you,  sire? 


Sc.  viii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


353 


SALADIN. 

The  caravan  is  come,  and  now  again 
I’m  richer  than  I’ve  been  this  many  a day ; 
So  tell  me  what  you  need ; to  undertake 
Some  right  grand  stroke  of  trade ; for,  like 
! ourselves, 

You  merchant  folk  can  never  have  too  much 
Of  ready  cash. 


NATHAN. 

But  wherefore  mention  first 
A trifle  such  as  this?  I yonder  see 
An  eye  in  tears,  which  it  concerns  me  more, 
Far  more,  to  dry.  My  Recha,  why  these  tears? 
What  ails  you — are  you  not  my  daughter  still? 

RECHA. 

My  father 

NATHAN. 

’Tis  enough — we  understand — 
Be  cheerful,  and  be  calm.  Oh,  may  your  heart 
Be  still  your  own,  and  may  no  other  loss 
Threaten  its  peace! — your  father  still  remains 
Unlost  to  you. 

RECHA. 

I fear  no  other  loss. 

TEMPLAR. 

No  other  loss! — then,  sure,  I’ve  been  deceived; 
What  we  fear  not  to  lose  we’ve  ne’er  believed 
To  have  possessed,  nor  ever  wished  to  have. 


354 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


Well,  be  it  so — Nathan,  this  changes  all — 
Sultan,  ’twas  at  your  bidding  that  I came ; 

But  I’ve  misled  you — think  no  more  of  me 

SALADIN. 

How!  so  precipitate  again,  young  man? 

Must  all  anticipate  your  lightest  thought, 

Your  every  wish? 

TEMPLAR. 

Sultan,  you’ve  heard  and  seen! 

SALADIN. 

Ay,  truly — pity  you  were  not  more  sure 
Of  how  you  stood. 

TEMPLAR. 

Well,  now  I’m  sure  of  it. 

SALADIN. 

He  who  presumes  e’en  on  a worthy  deed 
Thereby  revokes  it.  She  whose  life  you  saved 
Does  not  by  that  become  your  property; 

Or  else  the  robber,  whom  the  greed  of  gain 
Impels  into  the  fire,  would  be  as  much 

A hero  as  yourself 

( Advancing  to  Recha,  and  addressing  her.) 

But  come,  my  girl, 

Be  not  too  hard  with  him ; for  were  he  else, 
Were  he  less  hot  and  hasty  than  he  is, 

Perhaps  he  never  would  have  saved  your  life. 
Then  weigh  the  good  in  him  against  the  bad; 


Sc.  viii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


355 


Put  him  to  shame — do  what  he  ought  to  do ; 
Confess  you  love  him — offer  him  yourself ; 

He  dare  not  slight  you ; no,  nor  e’er  forget 
How  infinitely  more  by  such  a step 
You  do  for  him  than  e’er  he  did  for  you ; 

For,  after  all,  what  was  it  that  he  did? 

Let  himself  be  a little  smirched  by  smoke! 

A mighty  matter! — he  could  do  no  less; 

Else  he  has  nought  of  Assad  in  his  soul, 

And  wears  his  mask  alone  and  not  his  heart; 
Come,  maiden,  come. 

{He  seeks  to  lead  her  to  the  Templar’s  side.) 

SITTAH. 

Ay,  go — ’twere  not  too  much 
By  way  of  gratitude  for  that  he  did ; 

It  scarcely  were  enough. 

NATHAN. 

Hold,  Saladin, 

And  Sittah,  hold! 


SALADIN. 

What,  you  too,  Nathan,  now! 

NATHAN. 

Ay,  Sultan,  here  I must  put  in  a word. 

SALADIN. 

Well,  Nathan,  who  denies  your  right  to  speak? 
A foster-father  such  as  you  have  been 
Right  well  deserves  a voice;  nay,  if  you  will. 


356 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


More  than  we  all — but  let  me  tell  you  now 
I know  exactly  how  the  matter  stands. 

NATHAN. 

Not  quite,  methinks — I speak  not  of  myself, 

But  of  another,  a far  other  man, 

Who,  Saladin,  must  be  consulted  first. 

SALADIN. 

And  who  is  he? 

NATHAN. 

Her  brother. 

SALADIN. 

Recha’s? 

NATHAN. 

Ay. 

RECHA. 

My  brother!  have  I then  a brother? 
templar  ( starting  out  of  a moody  abstraction). 

Where, 

Where  is  this  brother?  not  yet  here? — ’twas 
said 

That  I should  meet  him  here. 

NATHAN. 

And  so  you  shall. 
templar  (bitterly). 

He’s  fixed  a father  on  her — can  he  not 
Fish  up  a brother  too? 


Sc.  viii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


357 


SALADIN. 

This  is  too  much! 

A thought  so  base  as  this  could  ne’er  have  passed 
My  Assad’s  lips — it  does  you  credit,  sir. 

NATHAN. 

Forgive  him,  Sultan,  as  I gladly  do; 

Who  knows  what  haply  might  have  been  our 
thought 

If  tried  like  him,  and  at  an  age  like  his? 

(To  the  Templar,  kindly.) 

Sir  knight,  I do  not  blame  you,  for  mistrust 
Begets  suspicion — ’tis  a pity  now 
You  did  not  plainly  tell  me  at  the  first 
Your  real  name. 


TEMPLAR. 

How ! 

NATHAN. 

Stauffen’s  not  your  name. 

TEMPLAR. 

What  is  it,  then? 

NATHAN. 

Not  Curd  von  Stauffen,  sir. 

TEMPLAR. 

Then  what’s  my  name? 

NATHAN. 

Von  Filneck  is  your  name; 


Leo  von  Filneck. 


358 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


TEMPLAR. 

How  is  that? 


NATHAN. 


You  start? 


TEMPLAR. 

I may  well  start — who  says  so  ? 


NATHAN. 

I myself ; 

And  I can  tell  you  more — but  do  not  think 
I tax  you  with  untruth — it  well  might  be 
That  either  name  might  fit  you  equally. 

TEMPLAR. 

'Twas  my  own  thought — God  bade  him  utter  it  1 

NATHAN. 

Ay,  for  your  mother  was  a Stauffen,  sir; 

Her  brother,  that’s  your  uncle,  brought  you  up ; 
Your  parents  left  you  in  his  German  home 
When,  driven  by  the  rigorous  climate  thence, 
Themselves  came  back  again  to  Palestine. 

His  name  was  Curd  von  Stauffen,  and  belike 
In  childhood  he  may  have  adopted  you. 

Now  tell  me  when  it  was  you  landed  here 
Along  with  him;  and  haply  lives  he  still? 

TEMPLAR. 

What  shall  I say?  Oh,  Nathan,  sure  you’re  right! 
My  uncle’s  dead — for  me,  I only  came 
With  the  last  draft  which  sailed  to  reinforce 


Sc.  viii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


359 


Our  Order’s  ranks — but  oh,  I pray  you  say 
What  have  these  circumstances  got  to  do 
With  Recha’s  new-found  brother? 

NATHAN. 

Well,  your  sire 

TEMPLAR. 

What ! — did  you  know  him  too  ? 

NATHAN. 

He  was  my  friend. 

TEMPLAR. 

Your  friend! — is’t  possible? 

NATHAN. 

He  called  himself 

Von  Filneck — Wolf  von  Filneck — yet  by  race 
He  was  no  German. 

TEMPLAR. 

Know  you  that  as  well  ? 

NATHAN. 

He  was  but  wedded  to  a German  wife, 

And  went  with  her  for  but  a little  space 
To  Germany. 

TEMPLAR. 

Enough — come,  say  at  once, 

Who  is  our  Recha’s  brother? 


NATHAN. 


You  are  he! 


360 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


Act.  v. 


TEMPLAR. 

What ! — I her  brother ! 

RECHA. 

He  my  brother — oh ! 

SITTAH. 

Brother  and  sister? 

SALADIN. 

Is  it  possible? 

RECHA  ( making  to  approach  the  templar). 

Ah,  brother ! 

templar  ( stepping  hack). 

I your  brother? 

recha  ( stopping , and  turning  to  nathan). 

Nay,  alas, 

It  cannot  be — his  heart  knows  nought  of  it ! 

My  God,  we’re  but  deceivers ! 

SALADIN. 

How  is  this? 

You  a deceiver! — never  think  it,  girl. 

(To  the  Templar.) 

You’re  the  deceiver! — everything  in  you 
Seems  simulated — face,  and  voice,  and  gait — 
Nothing  is  yours — and  now  you  will  not  own 
A sister  such  as  this! — hence  from  my  sight! 

templar  (approaching  him  with  humility). 
Sultan,  misconstrue  not  my  sheer  surprise ; 
Misjudge  not  either  Assad  or  myself 


Sc.  viii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 


361 


At  such  a moment — sure,  you  never  saw 
Your  Assad  in  so  strange  a plight  as  this. 

( Turning  to  Nathan.) 

Nathan,  you  rob  me,  but  enrich  me  too; 

Both  in  full  measure — but  you  give  me  more, 
Far  more  than  that  which  you  have  ta’en  away ; 

( Clasping  Recha  in  his  arms.) 
My  sister,  oh  my  sister ! 

NATHAN. 

Call  her  now 

Blanda  von  Filneck. 

TEMPLAR. 

Blanda,  must  it  be? 

And  Recha  now  no  more  ? — you  cast  her  off ; 

And  call  her  by  her  Frankish  name  once  more; 
And  all  for  me — oh,  Nathan,  wherefore  thus 
Make  her  a sufferer  on  my  account? 

NATHAN. 

What  mean  you  ? — you  are  hotli  my  chidren  now; 
For  sure  my  daughter’s  brother  is  my  child 
As  well  as  she,  as  soon  as  e’er  he  will. 

( While  he  yields  himself  to  their  embraces , 
Saladin  approaches  his  sister  with  an 
expression  of  astonishment  and  per- 
plexity.) 

saladin. 

What  think  you,  Sittah? 


362 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


SITTAH. 

’Tis  a moving  scene. 
SALADIN. 

And  as  for  me,  I almost  now  recoil 
From  telling  you  a thing  more  moving  still, 

For  which  you  must  prepare  as  best  you  may. 

SITTAH. 

Oh,  what  is  this  ? 


SALADIN. 

Nathan,  a word  with  you. 

( While  Saladin  and  Nathan  speak  to- 
gether in  suppressed  tones,  Sittah  ap- 
proaches the  Templar  and  Recha  veith 
expressions  of  sympathy  and  tenderness .) 

You  said  her  father  was  no  German  born ; 

Know  you,  then,  what  he  was,  and  whence  he 
came? 


NATHAN. 

That  he  himself  would  ne’er  confide  to  me ; 
He  never  breathed  a word  upon  the  point. 

SALADIN. 

Was  he  a Frank  at  all — a western  man? 

NATHAN. 

He  ever  freely  owned  he  was  not  that; 

His  speech  was  Persian. 


Sc.  viii. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


363 


SALADIN. 

Persian,  do  you  say  ? 

What  more  do  I require  ? — ’twas  he,  ’twas  he ! 

NATHAN. 

Whom  mean  you? 

SALADIN. 

’Tis  my  brother  whom  I mean ; 
Twas  he  for  sure.  My  Assad  was  the  man ! 

NATHAN. 

Well,  since  you  thus  have  hit  on  it  yourself, 
Behold  its  confirmation  in  this  book! 

{Handing  him  the  Lay  Brother's  breviary.) 

saladin  {eagerly  opening  it). 

Ah!  ’tis  his  hand — that,  too,  I recognize! 

NATHAN. 

As  yet  they  know  it  not — it  rests  with  you, 

With  you  alone,  to  tell  them  all  the  truth. 

saladin  {while  examining  the  volume). 

What ! think  you,  Nathan,  I shall  fail  to  claim 
My  brother’s  children — fail  to  claim  my  niece ; 
My  nephew  too?  What,  fail  to  claim  my  own! 
Think  you  I’m  like  to  hand  them  o’er  to  you? 
{Aloud,  to  the  group.) 

Ho,  Sittah,  they’re  my  own — they  are,  they  are ! 
They  both  are  mine — our  Assad’s  children  both ! 

{He  hastens  to  embrace  them.) 


364 


NATHAN  THE  WISE. 


Act.  v. 


sittah  ( following  him). 

Ay,  who  can  doubt  it?  they  are  ours  indeed! 

saladin  (to  the  templar). 

Now,  stubborn  boy,  you’re  hound  to  love  me — 
bound ! 

(To  Recha.) 

And  now  I am  your  father  for  a fact, 

Whether  you  will  or  no ! 

SITTAH. 

And  you’re  my  child  ! 
saladin  (again  to  the  templar). 

My  son  ! — my  Assad ! — oh,  my  Assad’s  son  ! 

TEMPLAR. 

Then  am  I of  your  blood?  if  that  be  so, 

The  tales  with  which  they  lulled  my  infancy 
Were  more  than  idle  dreams ! 

(He  falls  at  Saladin’s  feet.) 

saladin  (raising  him) . 

Hark  to  the  rogue  ! 
He  knew  about  it  all  along,  and  yet 
He  was  within  an  ace  of  making  me 
His  murderer, — by  Heaven ! — his  murderer ! 


NOTES 


NOTES  BY  THE  TRANSLATOR 


In  almost  every  instance  where  the  present  translator  has 
differed  from  previous  translators  in  essential  points  of  inter- 
pretation, or  has  characterised  their  versions  as  erroneous,  he 
has  done  so  on  the  authority  of  the  eminent  commentator 
duentzer,  or  of  Professor  buchheim  or  of  German  critical 
scholars,  resident  in  Germany,  whom  he  has  specially  con- 
sulted in  view  to  the  attainment  of  strict  accuracy  in  regard 
to  the  passages  or  points  in  question. 

Note  i.  Author's  Motto  on  Title  Page. 

Introite,  nam  et  heic  Dii  sunt ! 

(Enter,  for  here  too  are  gods.) 

Professor  Buchheim  has  called  attention  to  the  curious 
accident  by  which  these  words,  which  Lessing  prefixed  as  a 
motto  to  this  drama,  were  erroneously  ascribed  to  Aulus 
Gellius.  In  point  of  fact,  they  do  not  occur  anywhere  in 
the  works  of  that  writer.  The  sentiment — expressed  in 
Greek — is  to  be  found  in  Aristotle  ( De  Part.  An.,  1-5)  ; 
and  it  would  seem  that  by  a strange  chance  it  crept,  in  its 
present  Latin  form,  into  the  preface  of  Aulus  Gellius  to  his 
Nodes  Atticae  by  an  apparently  accidental  interpolation 
on  the  part  of  Phil.  Beroaldus  in  his  edition  of  that  work 
(Bologna,  1503).  The  point  is  more  curious  than  impor- 
tant. 

Note  2.  Page  127. 

The  name  Daya  is  an  Arabic  and  Persian  word  signifying 
a nurse  or  foster-mother;  equivalent  to  the  Greek  trophos, 
applied  in  the  Odyssey  to  Euryclea,  the  nurse  of  Ulysses. 
The  same  word,  under  various  modifications,  but  with  the 

367 


368 


NOTES 


same  meaning,  is  current  at  the  present  day  in  most  of  the 
vernacular  languages  of  India. 

Note  3.  Page  132. 

’Twas  a young  Templar,  who,  some  days  before, 
Spared  by  the  clemency  of  Saladin, 

Had  been  brought  hither  as  a captive — 

The  word  Saladin  is  a corruption  of  the  Arabic  Salah-ood- 
Deen — or  Integrity  of  the  Faith — one  of  the  many  titles  of 
Yussuf  Ibn  Ayub,  the  famous  Sultan  of  Egypt  and  Syria,  the 
Moslem  hero  of  the  third  crusade,  and  the  mirror  of  Mahome- 
dan  chivalry.  According  to  etymology,  the  word  Saladin 
ought  obviously  to  have  the  stress  on  the  second  syllable;  and 
in  all  probability  it  was  originally  pronounced  Saladin,  but 
with  the  characteristic  tendency  of  English  pronunciation 
to  throw  the  stress  on  the  early  part  of  each  word,  it  is 
now  generally  pronounced  Saladin. 

Note  4.  Page  138. 

Whom  would  you  flatter  now; 

The  angel  or  yourself? 

This  expression  on  the  part  of  Recha  is  explained  by  the 
supposition  that  she  not  only  believed  herself  to  be  the 
daughter  of  Nathan,  but  also  imagined  that  she  closely  re- 
sembled him  in  personal  apparance. 

Note  5.  Page  139. 

To  me  the  greatest  miracle  is  this,  etc. 

The  passage  commencing  with  this  line  and  ending  with  the 
words  “out  of  Nature’s  course,”  presents  difficulty  to  some 
readers;  yet,  although  somewhat  condensed,  its  meaning  is 
sufficiently  plain.  Nathan  is  endeavoring  to  dispel  the  illusion 
by  which  Recha  is  possessed,  to  the  effect  that  her  rescue  from 
the  burning  house  was  not  effected  by  the  Templar  or  by  any 
other  mere  human  agency,  but  was  due  to  the  miraculous  inter- 
position of  a veritable  angel.  In  his  efforts  to  do  this  he  not 


NOTES 


369 


only  points  out  to  her  that  it  might  almost  be  regarded  as  a 
miracle  that  the  Templar  should  have  been  spared  by  Saladin, 
usually  so  relentless  to  all  prisoners  belonging  to  that  Order, 
but  he  also  propounds  a general  reflection  on  the  subject,  to 
the  following  effect: — He  contends  that  we  are  at  all  times 
surrounded  by  wondrous  natural  phenomena  which  might  well 
be  regarded  as  miracles  but  for  the  fact  that  their  habitual 
recurrence  renders  us  familiar  with  them,  and  causes  us  to 
cease  to  wonder  at  them.  Thus,  for  example,  such  things 
as  the  daily  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun;  the  development 
of  a seed  into  a tree,  and  the  like,  strictly  regarded,  should 
be  held  to  be  miraculous,  and  probably  would  be  so  regarded 
by  any  one  observing  them  for  the  first  time;  but  that  such 
phenomena  “by  use  and  wont  grow  stale  and  commonplace.” 
Were  it  not  for  this  fact,  he  argues,  these  and  similar  occur- 
rences would  continue  to  be  considered  miraculous;  and  the 
name  of  miracle  would  not  by  thinking  men  be  confined  ex- 
clusively to  those  supposed  supernatural  occurrences,  or  sus- 
pensions of  the  laws  of  nature,  which  alone  excite  the  wonder 
of  fools  and  children. 

Note  6.  Page  140. 

Or  tender  for  his  life 

More  than  the  leathern  girdle  of  his  sword, 

His  dagger  at  the  most. 

By  the  rules  of  their  Order  the  Templars  were  not  permitted 
to  offer  for  their  ransom  anything  beyond  their  sword-belts  or 
their  daggers ; a regulation  which  practically  amounted  to  the 
prohibition  of  any  offer  of  ransom  at  all.  Duntzer  objects  to 
this  passage  that  the  Templars  did  not  wear  leathern  belts, 
but  girdles  of  white  linen  as  an  emblem  of  their  purity.  Even 
if  this  be  so,  the  objection  seems  unimportant. 

Note  7.  Page  142. 

Look  you, — a forehead  with  a certain  arch. 

This  and  the  following  six  lines  merely  refer  to  the 


370 


NOTES 


casual  occurrence  on  the  Templar’s  face  of  such  and  such 
features,  in  which  Saladin  fortunately  found  or  fancied  a 
resemblance  to  his  own  long-lost  brother,  and  thus  led  him 
to  spare  the  life  of  the  knight,  whereby  the  latter  was 
enabled  to  rescue  Recha  from  the  flames. 

Nathan  characterizes  the  countenance  of  the  Templar  as  “a 
barbarous  European  face”  because  in  that  age  the  orientals 
regarded  the  inhabitants  of  Western  Europe  as  uncivilized 
in  comparison  with  themselves. 

Note  8.  Page  148. 

Al  Haft  is,  strictly  speaking,  an  Arabic  adjective  signifying 
the  bare-foot,  or  the  bare-footed  one;  an  epithet  peculiarly 
appropriate  to  a Dervish  or  wandering  mendicant.  Diintzer 
entirely  misapprehends  the  meaning  of  the  word,  and,  by  a 
strange  confusion,  seems  to  connect  it  with  the  totally  un- 
related Arabic  word  Hafiz,  which  means  a religionist  who 
knows  by  heart  the  principal  passages  of  the  Koran. 

Note  9.  Page  153. 

Al  Hafi,  minister  of  Saladin. 

The  word  in  the  original,  here  translated  minister,  is  Def- 
terdar — more  properly  Dufturdar — a Persian  and  Arabic  term 
meaning,  primarily,  a record-keeper,  and,  secondarily,  an 
intendant  of  finance — a treasurer — from  Duftur,  a book,  roll, 
or  register. 

Note  10.  Page  155. 

By  thousands  to  oppress  and  crush  mankind, 

Rob  them,  destroy  them,  torture  them,  yet  play 
The  philanthrope  to  individual  men. 

This  rendering  of  this  passage  is  adopted  on  the  authority 
of  Professor  Buchheim,  although  in  opposition  to  the  opinion 
of  Diintzer.  But  inasmuch  as  the  view  taken  of  it  by  the  latter 
commentator  results  in  a greatly  less  effective  version,  the 
present  translator  feels  fully  warranted  by  the  great  reputa- 
tion of  Dr.  Buchheim  in  preferring  the  interpretation  here 
presented. 


NOTES 


371 


Note  ii.  Page  162. 

Well,  I’m  a Templar,  and  a prisoner, 

Taken  at  Tebnin. 

Tebnin  was  a fortress  in  the  neighborhood  of  Tyre,  where 
the  Templars  suffered  a defeat  at  the  hands  of  the  Saracens 
in  the  year  1187. 

Note  12.  Page  165. 

It  is  intended  for  King  Philip’s  hands. 

The  reference  here  is  of  course  to  Philip  II.  of  France, 
commonly  called  Philip  Augustus;  but  it  should  be  observed 
that  prior  to  the  action  figured  in  this  play  that  monarch 
had  quitted  the  Holy  Land. 

Note  13.  Page  172. 

As  Persia,  Syria,  and  far  Cathay 
Alone  can  furnish  forth. 

The  word  Sina  here  used  in  the  original  course  means 
China,  being  drawn  from  an  Arabic  form  of  the  name  of 
that  country.  Yet  a recent  translator,  strange  to  say,  renders 
it  Sinai ! 

Note  14.  Page  173. 

But  then  how  soon 
Such  moments  melt  away! 

This  is  merely  a sneering  implication  on  the  part  of  the 
Templar  that  the  enthusiastic  gratitude  of  the  Jew  would 
soon  evaporate. 

Note  15.  Page  173. 

By  birth  a Swiss, 

Who  had  at  once  the  honor  and  the  joy 
Of  choking  in  the  self-same  puny  stream 
With  his  Imperial  Majesty  himself. 

In  this  passage  the  allusion  is  to  the  death  of  the  Emperor 
Frederick  I.  of  Germany,  commonly  called  Barbarossa,  who, 
in  attempting  to  cross  the  insignificant  river  Calycadnus  in 


372 


NOTES 


Pisidia,  one  of  the  ancient  divisions  of  Asia  Minor,  was 
drowned  on  the  10th  of  June,  1190. 

It  should  be  stated,  however,  that  according  to  some 
authorities,  Barbarossa  died  of  fever  contracted  from  bathing 
in  the  Orontes. 

Note  i6.  Page  176. 

But  now 

My  pawn  will  fork. 

The  German  phrase  here  translated  fork,  as  well  as  that  a 
little  lower  down  translated  discovered  check,  are  technical 
terms  well  known  to  chess-players;  and  they  are  here  adopted 
on  the  strength  of  the  opinion  of  Professor  Buchheim,  who 
cites  in  support  of  his  opinion  no  less  authority  than  that  of 
the  eminent  chess-player  Dr.  Zukertort.  It  appears  that  the 
usual  translation  of  Abschach,  at  line  45  of  this  scene,  as 
double  check,  is  erroneous  and  untenable;  and  that  the 
phrase  really  means  what  English  chess-players  call  discovered 
check. 

Note  17.  Page  178. 

The  Dinar  was  a small  Arabian  gold  coin,  worth  about  eight 
shillings  of  our  money.  The  Naserin — German  diminutive 
Naserinchen — was  a minute  coin  worth  about  a farthing.  Its 
name  was  derived  from  that  of  the  Caliph  Naser. 

Note  18.  Page  179. 

Nay,  nay,  you’ve  taught  me  better,  Saladin, 

The  courtesy  that’s  ever  due  to  queens. 

This  is  probably  an  illusion  to  the  historic  generosity  which 
Saladin  practised  towards  the  sister  of  Saleh,  son  of  the 
Sultan  Noor-ood-Deen,  who  had  been  vanquished  by  Saladin, 
as  well  as  to  his  well-known  courtesy  towards  Sibylla,  wife  of 
Guy  de  Lusignan,  Maria,  spouse  of  Prince  Balian  II.,  and 
other  princesses. 

Note  19.  Page  180. 

Or  did  they  fancy  that  I meant  to  play 
With  the  Imaum? 


NOTES 


373 


This  passage  very  certainly  stands  in  need  of  elucidation. 
It  is  usually  badly  rendered  word  for  word  as  it  stands  in  the 
original:  “Was  it  with  Iman  that  I’ve  played?”  which  affords 
the  reader  no  clue  to  the  allusion  obviously  intended,  and 
indeed  presents  no  sense  at  all;  while  it  seems  to  assume 
that  Iman  was  the  name  of  some  special  individual.  But 
this  is  scarcely  translation. 

The  word  Iman  in  the  original  is  not  a personal  name  at 
all,  but  is  a heteroclite,  if  not  a positively  erroneous,  form  of 
Imanm,  an  Arabic  word  signifying  the  Mahomedan  priest 
presiding  in  a mosque.  As  is  well  known,  Mahomed,  closely 
following  the  Mosaic  injunction  now  embodied  in  our  Second 
Commandment,  stringently  prohibited  his  followers  not  only 
from  making  any  graven  images,  but  from  making  anything 
in  the  likeness  of  any  organic  object  whatsoever.  The  use  of 
such  things  by  devout  Mahomedans  was  rigorously  forbid- 
den; and  it  may  be  observed  that  no  such  figures  are  ever  to 
be  seen  in  the  decorations  of  Mahomedan  churches  or  other 
buildings,  or  in  the  synagogues  of  the  Jews.  In  course  of 
time  this  prohibition,  like  many  others  in  the  Prophet’s  code, 
came  to  be  disregarded  by  the  great  body  of  his  lay  follow- 
ers; but  it  still  continued,  and  perhaps  still  continues,  to  be 
rigidly  obeyed  by  the  Mahomedan  priesthood.  Hence  it 
followed  that  no  priest,  and  still  less  the  presiding  priest  of 
a mosque,  permitted  himself  to  use  chess  men  carved  in  the 
semblance  of  any  special  object;  the  pieces  used  by  the 
Mahomedan  priesthood  being  required  to  be  absolutely  plain. 
In  the  passage  here  under  consideration  Saladin  is  repre- 
sented as  endeavoring  half  jocularly  to  account  for  his  loss 
of  the  game  of  chess  to  Sittah.  Among  other  excuses,  he 
seeks  to  throw  the  blame  on  the  pieces  which  have  been 
supplied  to  him  by  his  attendants,  which  appear  to  have  been 
plain  ones,  destitute  of  ornament,  and  he  exclaims — 

Why  do  they  ever  give  us  this  plain  set 
Of  formless  pieces,  representing  nought, 

And  barren  of  suggestion  to  the  mind? 

And  then  he  adds,  as  if  to  account  for  their  having  done  so, 


374 


NOTES 


and  as  if  to  accentuate  the  unsuitability  of  such  pieces  for 
his  purpose — 

Or  did  they  fancy  that  I meant  to  play 

With  the  Imaum? 

who  of  course  could  use  no  other  but  plain  pieces  representing 
no  figures.  It  appears  to  the  present  translator  that  without 
this  explanation  the  meaning  of  this  passage  could  not  be 
properly  apprehended. 

Note  20.  Page  181. 

The  man  who’s  fit  to  be  my  Sittah’s  mate, 

And  that  is  Richard’s  brother. 

It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  there  is  no  historical  founda- 
tion for  the  idea  that  any  such  a union  as  is  here  supposed 
was  ever  contemplated;  it  is  a pure  creation  of  the  poet’s. 

Note  21.  Page  181. 

Had  his  sister  now 

Chanced  to  become  our  brother  Melek’s  bride. 

History  records  that  during  the  negotiations  which  took 
place  towards  the  close  of  the  third  crusade  it  was  at  one 
time  actually  proposed  by  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  that  Sala- 
din’s  brother  Me’ek,  or  more  properly  Malik  el  Adil,  should 
become  a Christian,  marry  Richard’s  sister,  and  be  made 
King  of  Jerusalem.  This  project,  however,  as  might  have 
been  expected  of  so  extravagant  a design,  eventually  came 
to  nothing.  The  sister  of  Richard,  whom  it  was  proposed 
to  give  in  marriage  to  the  brother  of  Saladin,  was  Joan, 
widow  of  King  William  of  Sicily,  whom  she  had  accom- 
panied to  Palestine  in  the  third  crusade. 

Note  22.  Page  183. 

I’ve  been  to  Lebanon  and  seen  our  sire. 

This  is  also  a creation  of  the  poet’s.  In  point  of  fact, 
Saladin’s  father  had  died  some  years  previously  to  the 
occurrences  referred  to  or  imagined  in  this  drama. 


NOTES 


375 


Note  23.  Page  185. 

Grudge  you,  forsooth ! when,  sure,  you  know  full  well 
You  grudge  it  to  yourself. 

In  this  and  the  following  lines,  constituting  the  first  part 
of  this  scene,  we  find  A1  Hafi  on  the  brink  of  betraying  to 
Saladin  the  generous  self-denial  of  Sittah,  which  has  prompted 
her  for  long  not  only  to  forego  the  sums  which  she  has  at 
various  times  won  at  chess  from  her  brother,  while  leaving 
him  to  suppose  that  she  has  received  them,  but  also  to  sur- 
render her  fixed  allowance  and  all  other  personal  resources 
at  her  command,  and  to  leave  or  place  them  in  A1  Hafi’s 
hands,  in  order  to  relieve  the  struggling  exchequer  of  the 
Sultan. 

The  Dervish  is  ever  on  the  point  of  divulging  the  matter; 
while  Sittah,  from  motives  of  honorable  delicacy,  is  in  an 
agony  of  apprehension  lest  he  should  do  so,  and  does  all  in 
her  power  to  prevent  her  brother  from  surprising  her  honor- 
able secret.  Thus  she  implores  A1  Hafi  at  least  to  say, 
that  is,  to  pretend,  that  she  will  get  the  gold,  and  to  make 
believe  at  least  that  she  may  send  to  fetch  it;  until  at  last, 
provoked  by  Saladin’s  obstinate  determination  to  lose  the 
game,  the  Dervish  blurts  out  that  the  Sultan’s  play  is  on  a 
par  with  his  payment  of  his  losses,  both  alike  a sham;  which 
shortly  leads  to  the  discovery  of  Sittah’s  generosity. 

Some  persons  appear  to  have  completely  missed  the  point  of 
some  of  the  expressions  used  in  this  episode;  as,  for  ex- 
ample, where  they  render  line  24  of  this  scene,  “Do  say  that  I 
may  send  to  fetch  the  gold,”  as  if  she  really  desired  to  get  it; 
whereas  her  meaning  really  is  that  she  wishes  the  Dervish  to 
say  to  Saladin  that  she  is  welcome  to  send  for  it;  and  this 
merely  with  the  view  of  preventing  the  Sultan’s  discovery  of 
her  secret.  Also,  line  42  of  this  scene  is  generally  quite  in- 
correctly rendered  as  “small  pains,  small  gains”;  a version 
which  obviously  loses  sight  of  the  intention  of  all  Hafi’s  words, 
which  in  point  of  fact  are  meant  to  imply  that  Saladin’s  play  is 


376 


NOTES 


as  unreal  and  as  much  a sham  as  is  his  payment  of  his  sister’s 
gains. 

Note  24.  Page  191. 

Downright  embezzlement 
Had  been  a safer  thing  to  venture  on. 

It  is  somewhat  strange  that  in  this  passage  the  original 
German  word  Unterschleif,  which  means  embezzlement  only, 
or  fraud,  should  by  some  translators  have  been  rendered 
deficits;  a rendering  not  only  erroneous,  but  involving  a 
serious  sacrifice  of  the  sense  of  the  passage. 

Note  25.  Page  209. 

The  knot  must  not  look  down  upon  the  gnarl. 

Here  Nathan,  carrying  out  his  comparison  of  men  with 
trees,  compares  ordinary  and  insignificant  persons  to  the 
worthless  portions  of  timber;  the  knots  and  gnarls  which, 
as  well  as  the  “topmost  twigs,”  must  not  presume  to  be 
arrogant,  and  to  look  down  upon  each  other. 

Note  26.  Page  209. 

Where  has  it  shown  itself  in  blacker  form 

Than  here  and  now? 

This  entire  passage  is  a vehement  denunciation  by  the 
Templar  of  all  bigoted  and  fanatical  propagandism,  whether 
on  the  part  of  Christian,  Mahomedan,  or  Jew;  and  in  the 
lines  above  cited  he  specially  refers  to  the  crusades,  which 
expeditions  Lessing  had  already,  in  his  Dramaturgic,  charac- 
terized as  being,  in  his  opinion,  “the  most  inhuman  persecu- 
tions of  which  Christian  superstition  was  ever  guilty." 

Note  27.  Page  222. 

Among  my  patrons  on  the  Ganges’  banks 

I need  do  neither. 

Most  translators  render  the  word  Geber  in  this  passage  as 
Ghebers,  or  Guebres,  that  is  to  say,  Fire-worshippers,  or  fol- 
lowers of  Zoroaster.  This  would  seem  to  point  to  grave 


NOTES 


377 


misapprehension  somewhere;  and  this  for  two  reasons.  In 
the  first  place,  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges  there  are  no 
Guebres,  and,  so  far  as  is  known,  never  were.  In  the  second 
place,  even  if  it  be  contended  that  poets  may  put  Guebres 
where  they  please,  on  the  time-honored  principle  that 
Pictoribus  atque  poetis, 

Quidlibet  audendi  semper  fuit  equa  potestas, 
yet  even  poets  may  not  talk  nonsense;  and  it  would  be  sheer 
nonsense  to  make  an  orthodox  Mahomedan  like  A1  Hafi  speak 
with  affectionate  veneration  of  " his  Guebres ” since  Guebres 
are,  and  always  have  been,  an  abomination  to  Mahomedans. 

It  might  seem  probable  that  the  word  originally  employed  by 
Lessing  was  merely  the  simple  word  Geber,  a giver  or  donor; 
and  that  A1  Hafi  merely  refers  to  those  bounteous  persons 
dwelling  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges  who  would  be  likely  to 
bestow  alms  upon  him — his  patrons,  in  short,  or  benefactors. 
It  appears,  however,  that  in  all  the  earlier  editions  of  this 
play  the  word  used  in  this  passage  is  Ghebcr,  which  means 
Guebre,  and  can  mean  nothing  else;  and  that  Lessing  pur- 
posely, however  erroneously,  used  it  in  ignorance  of  the  double 
objection  to  it  cited  above.  Nevertheless,  since  all  the  later 
editions  of  the  play  print  the  word  Geber,  it  may  be  presumed 
that  the  original  error  on  the  part  of  Lessing  has  since  been 
detected,  and  corrected  by  the  simple  omission  of  the  letter  h 
in  the  word ; and  as  it  seems  undesirable  to  perpetuate  an 
absurdity,  the  present  translator  feels  fully  warranted  in 
translating  the  word,  not  as  it  may  have  appeared  in  early 
editions,  but  as  it  now  stands  before  him,  and  he  has  therefore 
rendered  it  as  patrons. 

Some  authorities,  and  among  them  is  the  commentator 
Duntzer  himself,  have  endeavored  to  combat  one  of  the 
objections  above  mentioned  by  maintaining  that  A1  Hafi  was 
himself  a Guebre.  This  is  absolutely  untenable.  That  he  was 
a Mahomedan  is  indisputable;  the  name  is  essentially  that  of 
a Mussulman;  a Dervish  is  essentially  a Mahomedan  mendi- 
cant; he  is  attached  to  the  court  of  Saladin,  which  no  Fire- 
worshipper  could  ever  be;  and  in  the  third  scene  of  the  first 


378 


NOTES 


act,  he  swears  by  the  Prophet,  which  no  Fire-worshipper 
would  ever  do.  Finally,  even  were  this  objection  successfully 
combated,  the  other,  and  the  more  important  one,  would 
still  remain. 

Note  28.  Page  222. 

And  I’ll  provide  you  with  a pilgrim’s  frock. 

By  a strange  and  unaccountable  error  some  translators  ren- 
der the  word  here  correctly  translated  frock  as  staff.  The 
word  in  the  original  is  Delk.  Now  Delk,  or  more  accurately 
Dalk,  is  simply  an  Old  Persian  word  which  signifies  a pilgrim’s 
frock,  and  nothing  else.  This  blunder  is  the  more  remarkable 
and  inexcusable  inasmuch  as  Lessing  himself,  in  writing  to 
his  brother,  thinks  it  worth  while  to  emphasize  the  true 
meaning  of  the  word. 

Note  29.  Page  232. 

Why  seek  to  hide 
That  which  your  fitful  features  speak  so  plain? 

In  this  passage  the  Templar  does  not  imply  that  Recha’s 
looks  betray  love  for  him,  as  translators  so  generally,  but 
erroneously,  represent.  He  merely  refers  to  her  beauty  both 
of  form  and  character,  which  had  been  intimated  to  him  in 
glowing  terms  by  Nathan. 

Note  30.  Page  235. 

How  such  a sudden  tempest  in  my  breast 
Should  be  succeeded  by  this  sudden  calm. 

In  this  passage,  as  well  as  in  certain  lines  which  follow  a 
little  farther  on,  the  poet  seems  to  wish  to  mitigate  the  un- 
doubted unpleasantness  of  a situation  where  brother  and  sister, 
albeit  unconscious  of  their  relationship,  occupy  even  tem- 
porarily the  position  of  lovers.  It  will  be  observed  that  as 
soon  as  Recha  has  obtained  her  wish  to  see  the  Templar,  and 
had  thanked  him  for  his  rescue  of  her,  her  feeling  towards  him 
calms  down,  in  a manner  unaccountable  even  to  herself,  and 
she  entertains  no  thought  of  erotic  love  towards  him. 


NOTES 


379 


Note  31.  Page  247. 

Well  then. — In  hoar  antiquity  there  dwelt 
In  eastern  lands  a man  who  had  received 
From  a loved  hand  a ring  of  priceless  worth. — Sqq. 

The  famous  apologue  of  the  three  rings  is  avowedly  drawn 
from  the  Decameron  of  Boccaccio,  Giornata  Prima,  Novella 
Hi.;  and,  indeed  the  character  of  Nathan  himself  is  founded 
on  that  of  the  Jew  Melchisedec  in  the  same  tale. 

It  has  been  supposed  that  Boccaccio  found  the  outline  of  the 
story  in  a romance  called  F ortunatus  Siculus,  by  Busone  da 
Gubbio,  who,  in  turn,  had  himself  drawn  it  from  the  well- 
known  collection  of  tales  entitled  the  Cento  Novelle  Antiche. 
Professor  Bartoli,  indeed,  has  traced  the  episode  to  the 
Hebrew  historical  collection  called  Shebet  Jehuda,  from 
which  it  would  seem  to  have  found  its  way  into  the  Gesta 
Romanorum,  and  thence  to  the  Cento  Novelle.  It  may  be 
added  that  a somewhat  similar  idea  is  embodied  in  the  ancient 
Roman  story  of  Numa  and  the  Twelve  Ancilia. 

[For  a survey  of  the  sources  and  analogues,  see  Section 
V of  the  Editor’s  Introduction.] 

It  is  some  satisfaction  to  note  that  the  apologue  itself 
declares  that  one  of  the  rings — and  one  only — was  true  and 
genuine;  while  the  other  two  were  spurious  imitations. 
Thus  the  Christian  can  enjoy  the  assurance  that  the  story 
involves  no  necessary  imputation  on  the  verity  of  his  own 
creed. 

Note  32.  Page  258. 

In  the  Promised  Land, 

Land  therefore  ever  to  be  praised  by  me, 

I’ve  laid  aside  full  many  a prejudice. 

In  these  lines,  as  has  been  observed  by  the  commentators, 
there  is  a sort  of  play  on  the  word  gelobt  in  the  original. 
In  the  first  clause  of  the  passage  it  is  the  participle  of  the 
verb  geloben,  to  promise,  and  it  of  course  means  the  promised 
land  in  the  biblical  sense.  In  the  second  clause  it  is  the 


380 


NOTES 


participle  of  the  verb  loben,  to  praise,  and  the  Templar  im- 
plies that  it  must  ever  be  praised  by  him  because  in  it  he 
had  “laid  aside  full  many  a prejudice.”  This  play  upon  the 
two  words  necessarily  evaporates  in  translation. 

Note  33.  Page  258. 

And  ’tis  a better  one, 

More  fitted  for  my  father’s  native  skies. 

In  case  of  possible  misconstruction  it  should  here  be  noted 
that  this  rendering  is  the  true  and  only  possible  interpretation 
of  the  sense  of  the  original.  Most  translators  have  strangely 
misconceived  the  meaning  of  the  words  v'dterlichen  Himmel, 
which  they  render  variously,  but  quite  erroneously,  as  “my 
paternal  home  above,’’  “my  fathe/s  heavenly  home”  and  the 
like.  This  makes  absolute  nonsense;  and  the  mistake  has 
arisen  from  supposing  the  word  Himmel  here  to  mean 
heaven.  Now  this  word,  like  coelum  in  Latin,  ciel  in  French, 
and  even  the  Greek  uranos,  as  in  Herodotus  i.  142,  means  not 
only  heaven,  but  also  a particular  climate,  hence  the  quarter 
of  the  world  where  such  a climate  prevails,  and  hence,  lastly, 
any  particular  region,  zone,  or  country.  The  English  sky, 
especially  in  the  plural,  is  sometimes  used  in  the  same  sense, 
and  clime  is  almost  interchangeable  with  region. 

The  meaning  of  the  present  passage  is  this.  Tales  and 
rumors  heard  in  his  infancy  have  given  rise  in  the  Templar’s 
mind  to  a shadowy  and  dim  suspicion  of  his  father’s  eastern 
origin,  and  of  his  disregard  of  the  barriers  of  creed  in  his 
adoption  of  a wife;  and  now,  while  meditating  on  the  change 
which  the  alchemy  of  love  is  rapidly  working  on  his  own 
character  and  sentiments,  and  specially  on  his  growing  eman- 
cipation from  the  prejudices  of  his  western  training,  and  his 
readiness  to  set  at  nought  the  obstacles  which  creed  and 
custom  have  interposed  between  him  and  his  beloved,  the 
Templar  characterizes  his  new-born  liberality  of  thought  as 
being  more  in  harmony  with  the  probable  character  and  senti- 
ments of  his  eastern  father,  and  more  in  conformity  with  his 


NOTES 


381 


presumed  principles — “more  fitted  for  my  father’s  native 
skies.” 

Note  34.  Page  261. 

When  the  two  passions  waited  but  your  nod 
To  melt  in  one? 

In  this  passage  most  translators  erroneously  suppose  the 
word  beide,  both,  to  refer  to  the  Templar  and  Recha.  This  is 
entirely  mistaken.  It  refers  to  the  two  sentiments  of  gratitude 
and  love,  which  the  Templar  here  declares  were  on  the  point 
of  melting  or  combining  into  one — that  is,  into  love  alone. 

Note  35.  Page  261. 

Young  Templar,  you  are  too  precipitate. 

The  expression  Ikr  uberrascht  mich  in  this  line  is  generally 
translated,  you  surprise  me.  But  this  is  not  the  true  sense  of 
the  words  in  this  passage.  Nathan  was  not,  and  could  not  be, 
surprised  at  the  Templar’s  passion  for  Recha,  which  he  had 
already  plainly  perceived,  and  had  actually  desired  to  see. 
What  he  means  is  that  the  knight  is  going  too  fast,  and  that 
his  love  cannot  be  approved  or  accepted  until  the  mystery  is 
cleared  up  concerning  his  birth,  as  is  made  apparent  by 
Nathan’s  very  next  remark. 

Note  36.  Page  263. 

A fig  for  sneers  at  bastards  and  the  like; 

The  stock,  I trow,  is  not  to  be  despised. 

Compare  King  Lear,  Act  I.,  Scene  ii. — the  soliloquy  of 
Edmund. 

Why  bastard?  Wherefore  base? 

When  my  dimensions  are  as  well  compact, 

My  mind  as  generous,  and  my  shape  as  true, 

As  honest  madam’s  issue? — Sqq. 

Note  37.  Page  267. 

If  I but  substitute 

For  Saviour,  Providence,  she’s  right  enough. 


382 


NOTES 


Some  hold  that  this  passage  indicates  that  the  Templar  is, 
or  has  become,  an  unbeliever  in  Christianity.  This  seems  an 
erroneous  conception.  In  point  of  fact,  the  expression  merely 
indicates  that  the  knight,  who  still  imagines  Recha  to  be  a 
Jewess,  and  who  applies  to  her  position  the  remark  just 
uttered  by  Daya,  thinks  it  inappropriate  to  talk  of  the  inter- 
vention of  the  Saviour  in  her  case,  and  would  therefore 
substitute  the  word  Providence. 

Note  38.  Page  267. 

But,  oh,  this  is  the  land 

Of  miracles. 

Daya  characterizes  the  Holy  Land  as  the  land  of  miracles 
not  only  for  obvious  biblical  reasons,  but  also  as  a prelude 
to  the  announcement  which  she  is  about  to  make;  and  as 
appropriate  to  her  belief  that  the  Templar  is  the  chosen 
instrument  of  God  for  the  salvation  of  Recha. 

Note  39.  Page  277. 

See,  by  a happy  chance  he  comes  himself. 

Lessing,  in  his  impersonation  of  the  Patriarch,  had  in 
view  the  notorious  Heraclius  of  Auvergne,  who,  as  Patriarch 
of  Jerusalem,  proved  himself  a scandal  alike  to  his  church 
and  to  humanity.  Historians  have  called  him  “the  infamous 
Heraclius”;  and  Lessing  himself  has  recorded  his  regret  that 
in  his  play  he  has  failed  to  make  him  appear  nearly  as 
wicked  as  he  was. 

In  strict  historical  accuracy  the  Patriarch  could  not,  of 
course,  have  been  residing  at  Jerusalem  at  the  time  figured 
in  the  action  of  the  play,  since,  when  Saladin  occupied  that 
city,  all  the  Christians  who  had  been  dwelling  there  were 
obliged  to  leave  it.  This,  however,  was  not  overlooked  by 
Lessing,  who  has  admitted  the  liberty  thus  taken  by  him  with 
the  facts  of  history.  [See  Note  by  the  Editor,  at  the  end 
of  these  Notes.] 


NOTES 


383 


Note  40.  Page  280. 

Who  would  dare  to  judge 
The  eternal  laws  of  Heaven’s  majesty 
By  paltry  canons  of  punctilio? 

In  this  whole  speech  the  Patriarch — although  with  charac- 
teristic astuteness  he  does  not  actually  specify  the  point — 
animadverts  bitterly  on  the  recent  rejection  by  the  Templar  of 
the  base  proposal  which  he,  the  Patriarch,  had  made  to  the 
knight  through  the  agency  of  the  lay-brother,  as  described  in 
the  fifth  scene  of  the  first  act — the  proposal,  namely,  that  the 
Templar  should  not  only  abuse  the  liberty  which,  by  the 
clemency  of  Saladin,  he  enjoyed  at  Jerusalem,  by  acting  as  a 
common  spy  in  the  interests  of  the  crusaders,  but  that  he 
should  actually  assassinate  the  Sultan,  who  had  just  gener- 
ously spared  his  life.  The  scorn  and  indignant  loathing  of 
the  Templar  at  the  idea  of  a crime  so  detestable  in  itself 
and  so  additionally  horrible  by  reason  of  its  foul  ingratitude, 
the  Patriarch  with  execrable  cynicism  here  characterizes  as  a 
paltry  and  irritating  punctilio. 

Note  41.  Page  281. 

And  I’d  refer  you  to  the  theatre 

Where  points  like  this  are  argued  pro  and  con. 

Some  commentators  have  found  a difficulty  in  this  allusion 
to  the  theatre,  on  the  ground  that  points  like  that  referred  to 
in  this  passage  cannot  well  be  said  to  be  discussed  or  argued 
pro  and  con  on  the  stage.  This,  however,  seems  hypercritical, 
since  such  points  might  well  be  discussed  or  otherwise  treated 
both  in  the  drama  and  in  other  fiction.  But  if  the  force  of  the 
objection  be  admitted,  the  difficulty  may  be  solved  by  assuming 
with  Professor  Buchheim  that  the  word  theatre  in  this  passage 
should  be  taken  as  referring  to  the  public  halls  of  colleges  and 
academies,  which  are  used  for  purposes  of  discussion  and 
demonstration,  and  which  were,  and  still  are,  called  theatres. 

Note  42.  Page  286. 

I only  hope  we  still 

May  meet  the  charges  at  the  Sepulchre. 


384 


NOTES 


This  expression  is  a reference  to  the  historic  fact  that,  after 
his  occupation  of  Jerusalem,  Saladin  not  only  extended  to  all 
Christian  pilgrims  free  access  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and 
abolished  the  “pilgrim’s  tribute”  which  had  previously  been 
exacted  from  them,  but  also  made  liberal  contributions  to 
such  of  them  as  were  poor  and  needy,  as  the  most  of  them 
were. 

Note  43.  Page  290. 

The  original  word  here  translated  as  “the  Moslem  robe”  is 
Jamerlonk.  No  such  word,  and  no  word  at  all  resembling  it, 
can  be  traced  in  Richardson’s  Arabic  and  Persian  dictionary. 
Lessing  has  recorded  that  he  understood  it  to  mean  the  cloak 
or  wide  mantle  used  by  the  Arabs.  Buchheim  regards  it  as  a 
Turkish  word,  and  as  a corruption  of  the  Persian  Jagh- 
murlik;  but  no  word  at  all  resembling  this  latter  can  be  found 
in  Richardson.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that,  whatever 
its  original  source  of  form,  it  is  a term  which  has  undergone 
considerable  corruption;  but  there  is  equally  little  doubt  that 
it  is  intended  to  convey  the  idea  of  a robe  or  mantle. 

Note  44.  Page  290. 

The  hero  who  belike  had  liefer  been 
A delver  in  the  garden  of  the  Lord. 

Here  the  Templar,  pursuing  the  simile  first  used  by  Saladin, 
merely  alludes  to  the  natural  gentleness  and  humanity  of  the 
Sultan,  who,  he  implies,  if  he  had  been  left  to  his  natural 
bent,  would  probably  have  preferred  peaceful  and  beneficent 
pursuits  to  the  violent  commotions  of  war. 

Note  45.  Page  291. 

’Tis  too  much  gain  for  any  single  day. 

When  Saladin  refers  to  what  has  befallen  on  that  day  as 
being  too  much  gain  for  any  single  day,  he  alludes  to  the 
double  acquisition  of  the  Templar  and  of  Nathan;  and  it  is 
the  thought  of  this  latter  which  leads  to  the  somewhat  abrupt 
introduction  of  his  name  at  this  point. 


NOTES 


385 


Note  46.  Page  298. 

Save,  indeed, 

This  very  fear  itself. 

Saladin  implies  that  he  is  reminded  of  his  brother  by  the 
very  fear  which  the  Templar  evinces  lest  his  conduct  may 
have  caused  him  to  forfeit  the  good  opinion  of  the  Sultan. 
That  very  fear,  he  conceives,  would  have  been  felt  and  be- 
trayed by  Assad  under  similar  circumstances,  and  thus 
the  Templar  resembles  him  in  this  as  well  as  in  other  re- 
spects. 

Note  47.  Page  306. 

Not  long  ago  I filled  a hermit’s  cell 
On  Quarantana. 

Quarantana,  or  Quarantania,  is  the  name  of  the  high  and 
precipitous  mountain  lying  between  Jericho  and  Jerusalem, 
where,  according  to  local  tradition,  Christ  is  supposed  to  have 
passed  his  fast  of  forty  days  and  forty  nights,  and  to  have 
undergone  the  temptation  of  Satan.  Hence  its  name.  In 
later  times  it  was  much  resorted  to  by  pilgrims  and  hermits. 

Note  48.  Page  309. 

It  was  at  Danin 

I gave  it  to  you. 

Danin  was  a hamlet  in  the  neighborhood  of  Gath. 

Note  49.  Page  312. 

The  Christians  had  slaughtered  every  Jew 
Who  dwelt  in  Gath. 

Strictly  speaking,  Gath  had  ceased  to  exist  as  a city  at 
the  time  represented  in  this  drama.  The  introduction  of  its 
name  is  a pure  poetical  license. 

Note  50.  Page  321. 

What  can  it  be 

That  makes  me  now,  so  near  my  closing  scene, 
Suddenly  wish  to  be  an  altered  man? 


386 


NOTES 


The  allusion  here  is  to  Saladin’s  new-formed  resolution  to 
endeavor  to  practise  economy  in  his  expenditure,  previously 
referred  to  in  the  third  scene  of  the  fourth  act. 

Note  51.  Page  324. 

I’ll  ne’er  again  put  foot  within  his  doors. 

It  will  be  remembered  that,  towards  the  close  of  the  fourth 
scene  of  the  fourth  act,  Saladin  had  commanded  the  Templar 
to  go  to  Nathan,  and  bring  him  to  the  Sultan’s  presence. 
His  reluctance  to  enter  Nathan’s  house  is  explained  by  what 
passed  in  the  ninth  scene  of  the  third  act,  especially  in  its 
closing  lines. 

Note  52.  Page  326. 

And  have  I merited  the  scorn 

With  which  I was  dismissed  by  Saladin? 

For  the  explanation  of  this  expression  see  the  latter  part 
of  the  fourth  scene  of  the  fourth  act,  where  Saladin  had  to 
reprove  the  vehemence  of  the  Templar,  besides  reproaching 
him  for  having  applied  to  the  Patriarch  before  coming  to 
the  Sultan ; and  where,  also,  he  questions  the  stability  of 
his  attachment  to  Recha. 

Note  53.  Page  336. 

Nay,  for  that 

Let  him  be  thankful  to  the  Patriarch 

Who  has  more  cause  than  I. 

In  this  expression  the  Templar  refers  to  the  Evil  One; 
implying  that  Satan  is  the  one  whom  the  Patriarch  has  ever 
most  sedulously  served. 

Note  54.  Page  338. 

Our  angel,  be  assured, 

Will  ever  prove  right  worthy  of  our  love. 

Most  translators  have  erroneously  supposed  that  the  Ger- 
man pronoun  er,  in  the  first  of  these  lines,  refers  to  Recha’s 
new-found  brother.  In  point  of  fact,  it  refers  to  the  word 
angel  used  by  the  Templar  two  lines  previously;  that  is  to 
say,  to  Recha  herself. 


NOTE  BY  THE  EDITOR 


The  original  MS.  of  the  first  draft  of  “Nathan,”  comprising 
sixty  pages  in  quarto,  in  possession  of  a member  of  the  Men- 
delssohn family  in  Berlin  (see  facsimile  inserted  elsewhere 
in  this  volume)  and  recently  reproduced  by  photographic 
process  and  separately  transliterated,  in  one  hundred  copies, 
"by  the  “Insel-Verlag,”  F.  Richter,  Leipzig,  to  whom  we 
likewise  owe  a complete  reprint  in  facsimile  of  the  first  edi- 
tion, in  imitation  of  the  original  binding,  has  some  interesting 
notes  and  references  to  which  it  is  well  to  call  the  student’s 
attention. 

From  a notation  on  the  first  page  of  the  MS.  we  learn  that 
the  poet  began  the  versification  of  his  drama  on  November  14, 
1778,  concluding  the  fifth  Act,  March  7,  1779. 

In  the  first  draft  he  calls  Daja  Dinah,  and  states  that  the 
name  Daja  signifies  nutrix  (nurse),  according  to  the  Arab 
historian  Abufelda,  extracts  from  whose  Life  of  Saladin  he 
seems  to  have  read  in  one  of  the  works  of  Schultens,  a German 
Orientalist  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Lessing  adds  that  the 
Spanish  Aya,  which  Covarruvias  derives  from  the  Greek  ago, 
paidagogos,  is  equivalent  to  Daja,  and  conjectures  that  the 
Arabic  word  must  have  been  borrowed  from  the  Greek.  That 
the  author  consulted  historical  works  upon  which  he  based 
his  statements,  is  evidenced  by  the  data  he  assembles  at  the 
end  of  the  manuscript  of  his  original  draft,  which  concludes 
with  the  following  significant  paragraphs : 

“In  dem  Historischeff  was  in  dem  Stficke  zu  Grunde 
liegt,  habe  ich  mich  fiber  alle  Chronologie  hinweg  gesetzt; 
ich  habe  sogar  mit  den  einzeln  Namen  nach  meinem 
Gefallen  geschaltet.  Meine  Anspielungen  auf  wirkliche 
Begebenheiten,  sollen  bios  den  Gang  meines  Stficks  mo- 
tiviren.  So  hat  der  Patriarch  Heraklius  gewiss  nicht  in  Jeru- 
salem bleiben  dfirffen,  nachdem  Saladin  es  eingenommen. 
387 


388 


NOTES 


Gleichwohl  nahm  ich  ohne  Bedenken  ihn  daselbst  noch  an, 
und  betaure  nur,  dass  er  in  meinem  Stiicke  noch  bey 
weitem  so  schlecht  nicht  erscheint,  als  in  der  Geschichte.” 

We  quote  the  original  text  advisedly,  because  of  its  impor- 
tant bearing  upon  the  charge  frequently  brought  against  the 
author  by  captious  critics  that  his  delineation  of  the  character 
of  the  Patriarch  is  needlessly  caustic  and  prejudiced,  induced 
by  his  strong  bias  in  favor  of  Judaism. 

It  remains  to  be  said  that  in  the  MS.  of  the  original  draft 
Recha  is  called  Rahel.  The  form  Rica,  as  a name  for 
Jewesses,  is  mentioned  by  Zunz,  Namen  der  Juden  (Leipzig, 
1837,  p.  88).  It  survives  in  many  Portuguese-Jewish  families 
in  America. 


' ::v 


